


A Trickster Amongst Gods

by tyuoi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Idunn deserves an award for putting up with everyone, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Slow Burn, this is mostly a character study on Loki so get ready for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyuoi/pseuds/tyuoi
Summary: Born and raised as the young Jotunn Prince, Loki is captured in the war between the Frost Giants and the Aesir. Tension between the Nine Realms is at it's all time high, and when the Jotunn Prince is rumored to be dead, Odin resolves to keep Loki hidden and under his care as ward.





	1. Defunct

**Author's Note:**

> A few things!  
> Loki is around 7 years old in human years at the start of this fic and will be in his teens near the end.  
> I'm well aware that in canon Frigga is the one who teaches Loki magic but in this story Loki is born with an innate ability and Frigga will help him hone it later on.  
> This fic in general is a big mix of marvel canon and norse mythology.  
> I've planned to make this fic pretty long and I want to take my time with it so updates will likely be slow sorry.

Loki Laufeyson is the sole heir to Laufey, King of the Jotunn, and Farbauti, Laufey’s spouse. When Farbauti fell with child, it became quickly evident that it would be no typical Frost Giant. The delivery, though quick, took a toll on Laufey’s spouse. And when Loki was born, Farbauti was too weak to even hold his own child. Farbauti’s illness worsened shortly after Loki’s birth, and within a month he had gone still with death. Loki’s brothers tell him that it was his inherit magic that killed his father.

Quickly, Loki became a disappointment: small and slight, abnormally so for a Jotunn. And though his skin is kissed blue and his eyes red, it is the extent of similarities he shares with Laufey. Loki’s thick black hair curls at his neck, and Laufey swore that there are times where his son's eyes flickers green.

Only few know of Loki’s existence. Most assume that Laufey’s son was born still when he did not parade his newborn around the palace the day after his delivery. Only his half-brothers, Byleistr and Helblindi, are allowed to see and interact with Loki. Though they seldom take advantage of this, seeming to be as repelled by the child as Laufey was.

In Farbauti’s final days, he refused to be separated from Loki, holding him to his chest as his most treasured. Looking at him now, Laufey could not understand the potential Farbauti had seen in him. Could not understand the love he held for him.

But he had promised Farbauti to protect their child until the day he died and Laufey would, for it was his only heir.

Loki soon became a recluse. His only friends being the scriptures in Farbauti’s library. He poured countless hours over those absurd things. And when there were no more to read he began bombarding Laufey with endless questions of the realms and their history.

Laufey began bringing Loki books from other realms in hopes of appeasing his son’s insatiable hunger for knowledge. It was the only moments where Laufey felt remotely close to his son; when Loki’s smiles were aimed at him and not scriptures.

With age Loki’s power grew and Laufey quickly came to the realization that he could not keep it at bay; Loki is far too clever. So when the boy turned five, Laufey gifted him the only Grimoire in his possession. He allowed Loki to begin practicing the simplest of magic and only in his presence.

Every night after he retired from his duties, he and Loki would meet in the library. Loki would emerge from the small hidden door that led from his chambers, running excitedly with his Grimoire floating in tow.

Laufey could not deny the sense of pride that swelled in him when the child conquered a new spell and every once in a while his eyes softened and his mouth curved slightly when he watched the boy.

“Father, look!”

Loki bounded to him on his stubby legs and motioned to be picked up. Laufey plucked the boy off the ground and settled him on his knee, stabilizing him when he nearly fell. It was moments like these where Loki’s stature became so blatantly clear and disconcerting. A wave of shame washed over Laufey, shame so pure that it was impossible to quell—even after the time spent nurturing the boy.

Loki held a large chip of ice in his palm and after glancing at his father excitedly he passed his hand over the object. Laufey watched as the ice was washed with a golden glimmer and then transformed into a flat stone.

Loki held the rock up triumphantly, passing it over in his small fingers.

Laufey looked at his son curiously and wondered how so much power could be held in such a small, unassuming child. To possess such strong illusionary skills at the mere age of five was unheard of; Laufey never expected for Loki’s innate magic to reach this extent and he wasn’t sure the consequences that may be reaped  from it either.

When Loki turned seven, Laufey had sent to have the gem in Farbauti’s blade repurposed into a pendant. It was one of the last of his spouses possessions, but he had no use for it and he was certain Loki would cherish it more than he ever could.

Laufey strode towards his son’s chambers, sectioned off from the main castle in an area that was difficult for even the servants to find. He pushed Loki’s doors open and stood paralyzed at the sight before him.

Loki knelt over his Grimoire, nearly unrecognizable to his own father. His skin, instead of blue was white and free of his markings and his eyes were the brilliant green Laufey recognized. He resembled the _Aesir_ and it filled Laufey with unadulterated fear.

He quickly threw the door closed which caused Loki to jolt, his illusion falling. He stared at Laufey with wide, terrified eyes.

Laufey fixed him with a cold glare. “Loki. You will by no means ever use an illusion on yourself to conceal your heritage.”

Loki cowered below him, tears welling in his eyes.  

Laufey felt his reserve falter. He knelt to peer at his son closer and forced the boy to meet his gaze with the crook of his index finger.

“When did you get so powerful?” Laufey asked openly, unsure if the question was for his son or himself.

Loki did not answer. Laufey supposed he was as at a loss for an answer as his father was.

Laufey drew his hand away and exhaled, thinking of Farbauti. He would’ve given anything to be here, on his son’s name day.

“Your father loved you dearly, Loki,” Laufey grunted. Words of comfort and love did not come naturally to him, but he supposed he would try for Farbauti’s sake.

“He carried a blade with him wherever he went. It was a marital gift, crafted by our very best. Farbauti would have wanted you to have it,” Laufey glanced away from Loki for a moment. “However it is almost your own size.”

Loki watched him with unblinking eyes. He always did when Laufey spoke of Farbauti.  

“I had them take the gem out of the blade and shape it down to a reasonable size, so you could wear it on your person.” Laufey extended his hand where the pendant dangled from his finger.

Loki’s eyes spilled with tears and his mouth quivered with emotion as he took the gift into his hands. Laufey could tell the boy was holding himself back from sobbing and he worried that Loki might attempt to show his affection physically. But the boy simply wiped at his puffy face and placed the pendant around his neck. 

He smiled up at his father, so widely and unabashed, Laufey yearned for Farbauti to feel the warmth from it. 

“Thank you, Father.”

 

* * *

 

Byleistr bursts into the library. Loki had never seen his brother this distraught, yet Byleistr did not meet his eyes, and that is how he knew the matter is above him. His brothers did not often speak of important matters in Loki’s presence. Loki told himself that it is because he is too young, and that they do not wish to involve him in such turbulent affairs. However, Loki knows that they simply do not think him worthy of being informed. It must be dire news if Byleistr is willing to speak of it in Loki’s presence.

“The war has breached our realm, Father.”

Laufey regards Byleistr and queues him to continue.

“The Asgardians have pushed our army back into the capital. Odin is leading them right to our door.”

Laufey pushes Loki aside with one hand and glances at his son. “You must return to your chambers immediately. There will be guards posted at your door and you mustn't leave under any circumstances.”

Loki stared up at him with wide fearful eyes, a thousand questions resting on his tongue. Laufey would have none of it.

“Do you understand Loki?”

His son nodded but Laufey could see the doubt that his eyes hold. He kneels, so as not to tower over the boy. “Loki, this is not the time for tricks. You are my only heir. I cannot be worrying over your safety while I am securing our realm,” Laufey rests his hand on his son’s head gently. “Do you understand now?”

He watches as his son turn from doubt to certainty. The boy nods vigorously and starts rushing out the secret entrance of the library that led to his room.

Before he disappears behind the door, Laufey calls to his son. “Loki.”

Wide red eyes flash green. 

“Tomorrow we meet in the library, yes? We will go over the magic you’re studying.”

His son smiles so wide, it's as if the sun is shining between the cracks of his teeth. 

Laufey takes another moment to commit this moment to memory. If it is his last, he is glad. He only hopes that Farbauti can see it as well.

 

* * *

 

Loki does not heed his father’s warning.

At first he does what is asked of him. Sitting on his bed, facing the door, waiting. But the hours tick by without word, only accompanied by the distant screams of the damned. It is when the castle falls under siege, when he hears the guards posted outside his room fall to the ground, that he knows he must leave.

Running, he casts a concealment charm and quickly dives under one of the ice shelves. He knows that he is already hidden from the eye, but if they come in and destroy his belongings he can at least be shielded partially.

The door is blasted open and it crumbles into dust.

A rally of men, Asgardian, rush in. The first thing that hits Loki is their stench. They reek of sweat, grime and blood, so unlike to the cool odorless scent of his people.

“There is no one here.” One of them yells.

“They wouldn’t have this room so heavily guarded if it was empty. Search every corner,” another commands. “Perhaps, we will find the casket.” Then he stalks out of the room, leaving his men to continue raiding.

Loki eyes the unguarded door and he almost lunges for it when his eye catches his Grimoire sticking out from under his bed. He thinks about luring it into his hand, but he knows he will not be able to without catching the attention of the Asgardians. He curses inwardly, knowing that he must leave it behind.

He waits with bated breath, for the men to reach the far end of the room. Counting their footsteps in his head, he knows they will reach the other side in twenty paces before turning. Loki waits until they’ve reached their fifteenth pace, before twisting on his heel and running out of the door.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches a bend in the corridor, and once he does he presses his back against the wall. Catching his breath, he peers over the corner. 

Relief washes over him when he realizes they had not heard his departure. 

His mind moves rapidly, thinking of escape routes. He cannot leave through the library, that must be how they found their way in. He eyes the windows, but pushes the thought away as soon as it breaches his mind. He would not survive the fall, not at his stature, and he has no mastery of any magic pertaining to levitation of oneself.

Loki begins to panic. His vision is swimming and his heart is pounding so hard he fears the Asgardians will hear it. There is no way out. He is trapped and he will die alone.

Loki catches a sob before it escapes his throat and slides down the wall, curling into himself. He closes his eyes tightly, and attempts to calm himself before his foolishness gives him away. Helblindi would laugh if he could see Loki now, cowering in fear. Byleistr would be disgusted and Father...Father would be so disappointed. Loki remembers back to his Father’s last words to him.

I have to escape for Father. I have to meet him in the library tomorrow, he thinks.

He’s racking his brain for alternatives when his eyes fall upon the dumbwaiter. It is small, but so is Loki.

Loki clammers up to his feet and checks around him once more. The Asgardians are still raiding his room, tearing it apart, and he thinks that the noise they’re making might just be enough to muffle the ones he’s about to make. 

He opens the dumbwaiter and crawls inside. It is dark but when he fumbles, his hand catches the rope. He begins to tug at it until he feels that he is moving down and slowly but surely he makes it to the bottom. It stops with a soft thud and Loki halts.

He knows that once he opens the contraption he will be vulnerable to anyone who may be in the kitchen. But this is not the first time Loki has been in the dumbwaiter. Occasionally he would ride down in the middle of the night to steal food, and he knows that there is a short drop to the ground and a table a few feet away from the shoot that can hopefully cover him. He just hopes that there is no one in the kitchen.

Steeling himself, Loki pushes the dumbwaiter open and rolls onto the ground, suppressing a groan of pain, before rolling right under the table. He waits for the sound of yells but when he is met with silence he knows he is alone in the kitchen. Loki lets out the breath he held and smiles in triumph.

Quickly, he moves from out under the table and removes the concealment charm. It is eating up his energy, and he can’t have his magic falter when he’s out on the battlefield.

Loki slips into the tunnels the servants use to navigate the castle. Doubting any Asgardian has entered the tunnels, he begins to run following the path he had mapped in his head long ago. He runs, and turns, and runs, and swivels, and runs until the ground beneath his feet is no longer stone but snow.  

When he is welcomed by the cold wind he halts, and is met with such gruesome sight it nearly stops his heart.

The Kingdom is utterly devastated, obliterated beyond ruin and nearly unrecognizable to the young Prince’s eyes. It is littered with bodies from both sides, so many Jotunn fallen. The snow is so soaked with blood in some places it resembles a red sea.  

He wants to collapse, to give in to the pain that is needling it’s way into his chest cavity, but he is interrupted by a loud roar.

Loki jolts from the sound. He scans the battlefield, where the Asgardian are pushing the Jotunn back into retreat. He realizes the sound came from below.

There is another yell and this time it makes Loki’s heart jump because it belongs to his father. Loki turns and rushes down the stone stairs that lead down from the castle to the main entrance. Between him and Laufey is a set of a thousand steps, interrupted only by the castle courtyard, before it continues, meeting its end at the icebridge that serves as the palace entrance. His father is there in dire need of help but the stairs seem to never end and he cannot force himself to move any faster.

Loki is nearly at the courtyard when something crashes into columns of the staircase, causing him to fall. He yelps out in pain when a loose shard of ice tears his thigh. The staircase shakes and Loki quickly conceals himself fearing what may come. Out of the columns erupts a piece of metal, a hammer to be precise, and flies to its owner.

There at the bottom of the cliff, at the end of the icebridge, stands a man in gold. He does not need to see the God’s familiar horned helmet to know he is Odin the King of Asgard. He can tell alone from the power the God emanates, so palpable that Loki can feel it prickle his skin.

Loki runs towards the edge of the courtyard, peering below. He knows he cannot make it in time to reach the bottom where Odin and his father stand.

Odin is looming above Laufey, the ice giant fallen and injured. Loki feels his throat tighten as he watches the _Aesir_ raise his hammer and before Loki can utter a word, the hammer comes down crashing into Laufey’s skull.

“NO!” Loki howls hands outstretched. And in a last resort he summons his magic, it hums warmly through his veins and it rushes out of him, expanding and surging in all directions. His magic crackles in the air and lets out a resonating bang, knocking down Odin and his men.

They look up towards the castle, searching for the source of the sudden attack. Odin’s gaze pierces right through Loki, and though he knows the God cannot possibly see him through his concealment, Loki stills scrambles backwards as if Odin’s gaze scorches him.

“Up there! The courtyard!”

Loki recoils from hearing the Asgardians begin to ascend the stairs that lead right up to him. He runs backwards, but there is no where he can go. 

The castle is overrun and he cannot descend to the entrance because the Asgardians are coming up the only way down.

Loki turns, searching, looking for anyway out. There is none. He runs behind a mound of ice, his only means of protection.

The Asgardians have already reached the courtyard, Loki can hear them move around, their boots scuffing against ice.

 “There’s nobody here, Allfather.”

“No,” Odin snaps. “There is a sorcerer here. I can feel their magic. They’re here, hiding.” 

Loki slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from whimpering. 

“There are sorcerers in Jötunheim?”

“There is one now,” Odin replies. “Only a sorcerer can project power like that.”

“Perhaps, we should leave now, Father. We have already killed Laufey.”

Loki’s heart stops.

“No, Baldr. We mustn’t turn our backs now or we will become vulnerable to another attack.”

His father was dead.  

“The sorcerer is clearly gone by now. He ran. A coward like the rest of these beasts.”

He was supposed to meet him in the library.

“You heard my father. We will search for the sorcerer before returning.”

But he would never meet Loki in the library. For he was dead, murdered and bleeding out on the cliff bellow.

And Loki was staring at his killer now.  

His vision reddened and he felt such pure hatred and agony, it was like his veins were filled with molten lava. He wanted to wail—to let his pain be heard but he knew it would only reveal his concealment. And if the _Aesir_ could kill his father, then he would surely be crushed to dust.

But he could not stand idle. Not when the murderer of his father stood breathing.

Loki moves quickly, brashly, over the shards of broken ice. When he comes to a mere foot from his enemy he reaches his hand out—meaning to curse him or strangle him, he wasn’t sure—it grazes the God’s chin. Immediately a memory washes over him, not of his own, but of Odin’s.

It was of a child, a girl, and Loki could feel the pure love laced within the memory. The image of the girl morphed and now she stood tall, older with immense beauty, and raw, commanding power. 

Before he could realize his mistake, there was a hand at his throat. 

“Reveal yourself, sorcerer!” Odin roars.

Loki groans, clawing at the hand crushing his windpipe. His mind races, searching for escape when he knows there is none. 

Loki thinks of the woman from the memory. She must be Odin’s firstborn.

And in the moment before his concealment charm falters he casts an illusion, one his father had forbidden, transforming himself to resemble the girl. Perhaps, it would be what saves him.

Once revealed, Odin immediately releases him, eyes clouded with confusion and recognition. 

Loki collides with the ice, gasping. He looks down at his hands, sees them white, and knows his illusion succeeded.

“He’s just a child,” said Odin’s son. He regards Loki carefully. Maybe he too recognizes how alike Loki seems to the girl in Odin’s memory. Something tells Loki, however, that the memory was Odin’s alone, and it was why he had not mentioned the similarities.

 “What is he doing in Jötunheim then?” Asks another of Odin’s men, though he sounds suspicious, untrusting. The weapon pointed at Loki said as much.

Loki glares at the man before averting his attention towards Odin and Baldr.

“I-I am not a child,” Loki rasps out, lips trembling. He forces himself up from his knees and collects as much false confidence and bravery he could muster.

Loki locks eyes with Odin and thinks of his father. How he commands a room the second he enters it or how he silences his foes with a single glare. Loki tries to convey this same power, saying in his  most authoritative voice, “I am Loki Laufeyson, one and only son of Laufey and Farbauti, and heir to the throne of Jötunheim. And I command that you release me at once.”

The men are silenced by this, speechless and truly Loki wishes to roll his eyes at their stupor but he suppresses the urge.

“This can’t be true,” Odin says, though he seems to be voicing his thoughts more than outwardly making a claim.

“Laufey’s son was stillborn and Farbauti died from childbirth,” Odin eyes Loki warrily. “Byleistr and Helblindi are his bastard sons.”

Loki flinched at mention of Farbauti, stomach curdling. It seems no one would cease to remind him that he had caused his father’s death.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Loki spat. “I was hidden. You can ask my brothers. They will verify who I am.”

Loki scowls and adds, “Once you return me to my home.”

An Asgardian smirks maliciously. “Your home has been destroyed little Prince. It lays in ruins. And your people—your brothers have deserted you.” 

“That’s enough,” Baldr orders.

It feels as if his chest is concaving, and with each word another blow is delivered. Loki’s eyes darts between the men. He tries to meet Odin’s eyes, yearns to be told that it is a bluff. But the _Aesir_ will not meet his eyes.

 “No,” Loki mumbles. “This can’t be...You’re lying!”

Loki lurches forward, fingers tingling with magic waiting to be released. He screams, foaming at the mouth as he was restrained.

“Liars! You’re all filthy barbarians!” He thrashes under their hold, desperately attempting to escape. “How dare you! How dare you come into my realm and devastate my home! How dare you kill our King! My f-father,” he faltered, sorrow overwhelming his being.

Baldr regarded him softly. Loki could practically feel the pity rolling off of the _Aesir,_ and he wants nothing more than to slash that expression off his face.

“We do not have the time for this,” Odin declares. “We must leave now and return to Asgard.” 

“But Allfather, what do we do with the boy?” One of the men asks, gesturing to Loki with his sword.

Odin glances at Loki, contemplating. Loki’s anger is abruptly overcome by fear and he itches to run but he knew it would do little for him. He pleads with his eyes but Odin is already turning away from him.

“Take him with us,” Odin commands his men. “Call upon Heimdall. Tell him to open the bifrost.”

Loki writhes against his captors but to no avail.

His Kingdom has been demolished. His people, slaughtered. His father, murdered. And now he was being taken as prisoner, to meet his fate in Asgard. And if what they say is true, then he has been deserted by his only remaining family. No one will come for him. Even his magic is failing him now; he no longer felt the familiar energy coursing through him. It had left him for dead, just as everyone else had.

 

* * *

 

What Loki first notices about Asgard was how overwhelmingly bright it is. Even from inside the dome shaped cover, the radiant light manages to reach Loki and he yearns to outstretch his hand, to feel the warmth on his skin, so unalike his home. He thinks maybe he could catch a few drops of the gold that the realm basked in; he knows it is a foolish thought, but his breath was still caught in his chest at the sight of it all.

“Heimdall close the bridge. Immediately.”

Loki looks up his transfixed state to take in the Bifrost bridge and the Asgardians upon it. He glances at the man Odin had spoken to, Heimdall, standing on a podium of sorts, holding a large sword with both hands. He is rather intimidating, Loki thinks. All shoulders, with vivid bronze eyes, and golden armor adorning his person.

The young Jotunn averts his attention, not wanting to catch the amber gaze, and observes the inside of the Bifrost. The interior seemed to be made up of large gears, all connecting to a center where there was a small hole, jutted out from the dome, pointing in the direction of the sky.

The grip on his upper arms tightens and he winces, wondering if he will wake up the following morning with bruises. That is, if he wakes up the following morning.

“Odin, who is the child?” Heimdall asks, his tone rather dangerous, and Loki wonders if it is customary for the man to speak to his King in such a manner.

Odin glances at Loki, and Loki holds his gaze with accusatory fury swimming in his green orbs.

“There is no time to explain. We must take him to the palace immediately. Frigga will take care of things from there,” the King addresses all in the room, though it seems his words are mainly meant for Heimdall.

“Certainly,” replies one of the barbaric men holding Loki in place.

Loki cannot see him as he is led down the bridge, but he can feel Heimdall’s burning gaze watching him suspiciously. It is then, when they are at the end of the bridge that Loki notices the Asgardian Palace in all its impressive stature and build.

There is an Asgardian army there to welcome Odin and his men, and they surround them at once, escorting them safely to the palace. Even though he is shielded from sight, Loki can still hear the Asgardian people and their cheers of joy, and greetings to their King.

Loki feels his stomach swell with nerves, and he reaches out to his magic but finds nothing, as if the palpable stream had been blocated by a dam. The Jotunn’s forehead is damp with sweat and he is not sure if it is from the unfamiliar heat, or the unease that is building within him. His eyes flicker from side to side, searching for a weak spot in the curtain of soldiers. Perhaps, if he is quick he can twist of out the slackened grip of Odin’s men and escape into the crowd of Asgardians. In the midst of confusion he could alter his appearance and pass off as an Asgardian child. He wasn’t sure where he could go from there, he doesn’t have time to dwell on negative outcomes. He can only plan to escape even if it results in him being stranded on Asgard, it was still better than whatever awaits him in the palace.

He is about to make a move when he feels a presence force its way into his head. It is overbearing and heavy and the voice all but shouts, _Do not do something foolish, child._

Loki whips his head back in shock, to stare at the owner of the unmistakable voice. Eyeing him closely is Odin; there’s clear warning in his gaze and it causes Loki’s muscles to seize.

Loki burns bright with searing hatred, body lit with anger curling like flames licking at his insides. For a brief moment he can feel his power simmering in the depths of an empty pool, but when he reaches for it, it dissipates. Loki flinches visibly and Odin glances at him, ever observing. For as much as he hates himself for it, Loki cannot help but cower under his gaze. He cannot help but remember exactly who this man is, what he’s capable of, or what he’s done.

His gaze snaps up from the ground at the sound of two large stone doors with intricate carvings being pushed open. The palace doors.

Once they are led into the throne room, the guards begin to scatter to their positions at the side. The young Jotunn scans the room and immediately catches the gaze of another boy. His hair is the color of honey in the sun, and within it, glints of gold—the circlet of a prince. He is shorter than Loki, and is still plump with childhood in a way that the other boy is not. This must be Odin’s youngest and heir to the throne if he is wearing a golden circlet.

Loki glances at Baldr, who is now hovering over his shoulder, and wonders why the eldest Odinson’s head is bare. He turns when the _Aesir_ meets his gaze.

When the boy with golden hair catches sight of Odin he stands from where he was lounging on the throne, face bright with a sheepish grin. “Father! You’re back!”

The boy greets his brother with a smile and then stands before his father. It is then that he notices Loki, as if his existence had not merited acknowledgement before. Loki’s stomach burns with resentment, for he is a prince as well. Even if he stands on foreign ground as a captive.

The boy regards him with a balanced look. “Who is this?”

Odin ignores his son’s question. “Where is your mother?”

The boy frowns, clearly not pleased with being blatantly disregarded, especially in front of strangers. “In her chambers.”

Odin looks above his son and addresses a young, pert woman Loki had not noticed before. She has blonde, nearly white hair and a small elvish face, that twists into a polite smile at her King. “Idunn, send for Frigga and take Thor to his chambers.”

Loki watches with amusement as the boy’s face contorts with silent outrage. Idunn places a delicate hand on Thor’s shoulder and guides him out of the room.

Odin takes his seat on the throne, slackening slightly with exhaust as he awaits his wife. Loki wants nothing more than to give him eternal rest.

He takes this moment to take in the throne room. It is immense and golden and its vibrancy makes him want to shield his eyes. It is so unalike to his own throne room, with its vast, arching, stone walls, and tall windows that extended to the ceiling.

The hand on him adjusts, thumb digging under Loki’s thin shoulder blades. He glares up at Baldr, mouth contorting nastily. “Do you mind loosening your brutish grip? I am still a prince and I refuse to be maltreated by the likes of you.”

Baldr’s expression does not give but he does slacken his hold on the boy.

When he straightens his gaze to look across the room he realizes Odin’s wife, Frigga, is already by his side. He wonders for a moment how she could have moved so fast, but it is quickly answered when he feels her power radiating from her in curls of gold.

They are speaking to each other in low whispers. Though Loki strains to hear their words, he is certain they are discussing him.

Odin beckons them closer with a demanding hand, and before he can protest, Loki is being shoved to kneel at the foot of the throne.

Frigga moves towards him, her lilac dress pooling on the steps as she crouches to his height. She reaches out to touch his face and he jerks backwards only to collide against Baldr’s knees.

Frigga smiles at him, warmth pours out of her in a steady stream. When she touches his temple, he feels something shift within him.

“You’re not wrong, my dear. He is very strong, stronger yet to come.” Her voice is smooth and alluring and it lulls Loki into a quiet submission.

She picks up his limp wrists and Loki allows it. Frigga’s eyes close and her lips move soundlessly, though he can feel more than hear a vibration resounding. There is a sudden heat that spikes where she touches his skin.

Loki yanks his hands away frantically. “You want to take away my magic!”

He glares accusingly up at Odin and when he turns Frigga’s face has become impassive. She extends her hands back out, expectantly. When he does not offer them to her she seizes them in a firm grip.

He yelps and struggles against her hold, eyes stinging with fearful tears. “Please!” He pleads. “Please no, I beg of you!”

Her grasp becomes scorching, blistering his cool skin into an angry red beneath her fingers.

“No, no,” he babbles, crying with reckless abandon. “It’s all I have...p-please!”

The dull hum has become so unbearably loud, and the pain so agonizing that he is rendered to mere screams. He’s not certain if he first succumbs to the pain or the magic, but his vision quickly begins to darken. Loki lets out a last wail of anguish before collapsing into the Goddess’s arms.

 


	2. Tempest Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, i know its been a while but midterms really got to me  
> ALSO PLEASE READ  
> i cant be bothered with immortal ages so as you’ve seen, Loki’s and Thor’s ages (amongst others) will always be referred to in human ages but know that they have been gods for much, much longer. “years” “weeks” and such are conceptual time stamps, but in reality would be much more time if measured by our standards. this is important to note when it comes to gaging what Loki is going through

It is said that the sky trembled with thunder, and erupted with brilliant lightning from the might of a tiny babe. It is also said that the rains that had mercilessly immersed Asgard since the moment Frigga cried out from pains, ceased once the child had taken his first breath.

Thor had not been an easy birth. Frigga wishes he had been like her eldest, a few simple pushes, a few cries, but he was not and by the end of her delivery Frigga was too exhausted to even hold Thor in her arms.

Odin had stood by her side through the entire ordeal, stroking her hair and holding her hand even when her strength threatened to crush his knuckles. Baldr had been by her side at first, but by the hour his gentle Queen had turned into a screaming heathen, he quickly removed himself from the room.

Only when Frigga had fallen into a soft slumber, did he peek into the room, standing cautiously behind the door.

Odin turned, holding the babe in his arms. He caught eye of his eldest son and motioned for him to enter. Baldr quickly took his place by his parents, and Odin could tell he was afraid of touching his baby brother though it was obvious he wanted to. He simply watched with shimmering eyes, stood on his tiptoes.

The nursemaid walks back into the room carrying a bowl of cold water and replaces the wet cloth on Frigga’s forehead.

“Allfather?” She asked with outstretched arms.

“Oh, yes.” Odin handed Thor over to the nurse and watched curiously as she ran a few tests to check over his well-being. She snapped her fingers by his ears, watching his reaction, flashed light in his eyes and weighed him. When she smiled in Odin’s direction he knew that Thor was in good condition.

Frigga began to rise, bright eyes fluttering open. Odin moved closer to her bedside, holding her hand in his own and attempted to smooth her frizzled curls.

She smiled at her husband, exhaustion curling her mouth slightly. “Is he well?” She asked, eyes wandering in hopes of catching sight of her son.

The nurse brings him to her arms, though she warns the Queen not to strain herself. Frigga beams down at her son, tears welling in her eyes as she presses a kiss to his head.

“My son. My Thor.”

 

* * *

  

“Surrender, Ice Giant!”

Thor yells from high above his brother, standing on a table and pointing an accusing butter knife, pretending that it was Father’s Mjolnir instead.

They often played like this, even if their parents scolded them for blatantly disrespecting the castle and its servants. Baldr was nearing his adolescence, in a few months he would be fifteen years of age. Before he knew it he would be of age and appointed a position in Odin’s council. There was still time however, before then, so he indulged his kid brother, knowing that soon he would not be able to play such games.

“Never!” He shouted back at Thor, rolling off his back to stand.

At that moment Thor launches himself, screaming an adorable battle cry only to be caught in Baldr’s arms.

Thor squeals. “Let me down, you big oaf!”

Baldr chuckles, reluctant to let the child down. “Aye, Prince.”

Thor frowns up at his brother from the ground. “No, no. I’m supposed to be a Valkyrie!”

Baldr snickers, thinking of the day he could tease Thor with such memories. “Thor we’ve talked of this. Only women can join the Valkyrie.”

Thor rolls his eyes defiantly. “That’s stupid. I’m going to become a greater warrior than any of them anyway!”

Baldr’s brows raise. “Is that right?”

Butter knife in hand, Thor threw his fist in the air yelled a mighty, “Yes!”

“Now, Thor, you’re not going to become a great warrior standing and holding that knife as so."

Thor's posture slackened, overcome with confusion and bristling, prepared to defend himself.

"And how is it I should stand?" He asks, much too proud for a boy his age.

Baldr bites back a laugh, and motions for Thor to jump down from the table. "Get down before your mother has a fit."

Thor obeys him, lips pouting in silent protest; he'd rather be on the table where he was for once taller than his brother.

"For one your legs are all wrong." Baldr corrects him, pushing his legs forward and back into a stronger position. "Your fighting stance is the most fundamental  position you will ever learn in hand to hand combat or weapon training. A proper stance allows for strong, effortless movement and an easy transference of force from body to extremity," he touches the butter knife in Thor's hand to elaborate.

"I've witnessed many fools sacrifice their stance in order to land a blow or get a specific grip on their opponent. Remember the goal of combat is not just to hit your opponent at all costs. It's to do so in a way that weakens their position while at the same time strengthening your own."

Thor nods thoughtfully.

"And don't hold that knife like that," he chides. Baldr pulls Thor thumb out from where it was tucked inside his fist. "If you strike something with Mjolnir or any other great weapon, you'll shatter your thumb from the rebound of your hit."

When Baldr steps away, Thor relaxes and moves out of the stance.

"Have you been listening to your instructor?"

Thor smiles sheepishly. "He's awfully boring, brother."

Baldr laughs lightly and ruffles the kid's hair. "Pay attention doing your lessons, Thor. Father would be angry with you if he knew."

Thor pouts childishly, but he does not refute.

"Speaking of lessons, don't you have one to go to soon?"

Thor blanches. "Yes," he says mournfully. "He wants me to play the lyre! I'm rubbish at it."

"All well-established princes are able to play an instrument."

Thor makes a noise of distaste. "You don't play an instrument," he states blatantly.

Baldr stills with a sour sense of shame, unlike any other. He tries to smile playfully as he says, "Yes, but I am not the Prince, little brother."

Thor groans in all his melodramatics.

Baldr eventually succeeds in getting the young boy to scamper off to his lessons. He is left alone in the grand hall, with only his thoughts as company. Looking out the window, surveying the thousands of Asgardians under their reign, he hopes that whatever little he can contribute to Thor's uprising will shape him into a benevolent, strong leader.

 

* * *

 

 "Again."

Thor slumps in exhaustion for a moment before realigning into his stance, striking out into the air with his wooden staff. It makes a resounding sound, making the leaves on the nearby plants sway.

His instructor, Geir—though he would never address him as such—walks around him, examining.

Geir believes Thor must master regular combat before he even attempts to weild his power. Thor thought it absurd, but he knew he had no say in it; Odin had appointed Geir himself. 

"Again." Geir is unappeased.

Thor grits his teeth, and does the move again, exactly the same. The sweat beading on his face drips into his eyes, stinging them. As he moves to wipe the grime away, he is thwacked in the shin by his instructor's staff.

"Don't break your stance."

Thor gives an exasperated sigh. "I'm not even fighting anyone."

"And see how easily I struck you when your guard was down?"

"I wouldn't let my guard down if I was fighting someone!" Thor argues.

The man is silent for a moment, scrutinizing the boy. "You want an opponent?"

Thor nearly jumps in excitement. "Yes!"

Geir beckons him with two fingers, to lead him out of the courtyard and back into the outdoor halls. When Thor realizes where they're headed, his body thrums with energy. As he expected they end up in the Great Field where the regular noble children are trained.

When they arrive, everyone halts in their movements, parting to either sides of the two. It is how they would usually receive the Prince.

Geir addresses the Head instructor when he speaks. "Prince Thor would like to join your class today."

The master is weary, though he dare not say anything; he knows this is not a request, but a demand.

"Worry not," Geir reassures. "The Prince knows not to use his powers under any circumstance while participating in combat with his fellow peers."

Reluctantly, the master agrees and orders his students to stand in ordered rows, their backs upright and shoulders squared.

Geir paces slowly in front of the first row of students, observing. "These are the strongest, correct?"

One of the lower instructors, standing at the side, affirms this.

When Geir stops in front of a girl, he pulls her out. Thor recognizes her as Heimdall's younger sister, Sif, though she has never caught his eye in particular. Her long golden hair is pull into tight braids that are pinned to the back of her head. She is sweating from the sun beating down on her during her training, and when she makes eye contact with Thor, her eyes are hardened like a warrior's.

She bows her head slightly in acknowledgement before positioning herself into a wide, heavy stance. Thor follows her.

"Begin!" Geir commands.

Thor is the first to strike out, aiming for her shoulder. She avoids it easily, moving languidly as if she was the very water that flowed in a stream. She's quick, he thinks.

He curls his hand into a fist and aims again, this time for the front of her nose. He only grazes her and before he knows it, she's kicking her leg out to throw him of his balance. She succeeds, but Thor rolls onto his shins to avoid the brunt of the fall. Before she can deliver a second attack, Thor swings his leg out, his ankle hooking at the back of her calf and bringing her to the ground.

Thor brightens with triumph, and is coiling his arm back when Geir lets out a familiar whistle.

"Enough."

Thor's arm goes slack and he frowns in disappointment. When he stands he offers her his hand. She takes it willingly, and when her hand meets his, she grips hard, like a man would. Thor decides he likes her.

For the next hour, he is paired with a few others, while the rest of the class continues their lessons on the other end of the field. He fights Volstagg, a boy with fiery red hair and heavy build, who lands a few brutal strikes and nearly wins against him. Then there was Fandral, a tall, thin boy, who clearly was gifted at swordsmanship and without one, wielded his limbs in a similar fashion. He was quick on his feet and with his words, and Geir had to silence him several times while they fought.

When they were called apart, Fandral jested that he would of easily stricken Thor down if he they were using weapons. For a moment Fandral goes blanche with fear, realizing how informally he had spoken to the Prince, but when Thor had simply laughed he relaxed and continued his banter.

When the hour had ended, and the sun hung low in the sky, Geir released them, reminding Thor of his lyre lessons the following morning.

"Your Highness plays the lyre?" Volstagg asks, his lips quirking into a teasing smile.

Thor groans. "It's required by my father, though I've never seen that man touch anything remotely musical."

Volstagg and Fandral laugh at this openly, their mouths hanging with mirth.

"I think the lyre is beautiful. I quite like playing it myself," Sif comments. Thor shifts his attention to her, though she will not meet his eyes.

Fandral makes a sound of amusement. "Yeah, but that's because you're a–"

"If you say girl, Fandral, I will show you how painful it is to be struck over the head with a lyre."

This silences Fandral, though he continues to chuckle behind his hand. It seems like they have been friends for a long time, something that Thor aches for. And why shouldn't he have it, he thinks. He is the Prince.

So he invites them to dine with him that night, which shocks them all into silence.

"Are you sure?" Fandral gapes before quickly adding, "Your Royal Highness."

Thor finds this funny. "Of course I am. You shall meet outside the royal court at sundown, and I will come collect you. Dress, however you please, my parents are attending matters elsewhere, so it will be just us and my brother and a few of the other royals."

"Yes, Your Highness!" Fandral says excitedly.

He's about to leave when he notices Sif has not spoken a word. He turns to her, looks at her for a moment and says, "Your hair came loose."

She reaches up to her head subconsciously, moving to pin it back in place.

"It looks nice down," he adds, trying to reassure her.

Her cheeks darken at this, though he isn't sure if this is his imagination, since they were flushed before from exertion.

She nods before placing her hands at her front and composing herself. "Right, I'll see you tonight, Your Highness."

 

* * *

 

Thor swung around a tree, his hand gliding off the rough bark.

"Idunn!" He called out, hoping he'd catch sight of the Goddess somewhere amongst her trees.

Her trees lied in the furthest garden from the castle. While many royals and nobles could be seen strolling in the orchard gardens outside the palace, few were allowed to enter Idunn's. She had claimed that only those with the purest of hearts could enter, but Thor supposed she simply liked to be on her own, amongst wildlife where she was happiest.

She was quite difficult to find when she made herself scarce.

Thor bent down in the lush grass to spy at a white hare that had hopped in his direction. When he reached out to it, there was a moment it considered him, nose twitching, before it scampered off behind the brush. Thor huffed in exasperation; he could never get the animals to come near him.

"My sweet Prince!"

Thor looked up to see the Goddess sitting in the tree above him, though she had not been there moments before. Her legs dangled, kicking out girlishly and her white dressed pooled in her lap. Thor's breath dissipated in his chest; he was always taken aback by the Goddess’s  beauty and his heart did mad things when he was in her presence. But she was thousands of years his elder and had been his nurse when he was an infant.

"You've come to visit me!" She looked down at him, her head propped against the limb of the tree, white hair cascading down the side of her small face.

Thor grinned up at her, hands placed at his hips. "Yes! I was wondering where you were, but I should of known to look up."

"I quite enjoy being high up, it's good for when you want to talk to the wind."

Thor quirked his brow in question. "The wind?"

"Oh yes, the wind has many things to say, you just have to listen for it," she said with a wondrous look on her face.

He strained to listen, cupping his ear as he did so. All he heard was the soft brush of wind swaying the flowers and parting blades of grass. "I don't hear any words.”

Idunn laughed at him, her mouth opening wide. "The wind doesn't speak in words!"

Thor flushed with a twinge of embarrassment, but tried to swallow it down.

Idunn's laughter dies down as she pushes herself upright, and jumps down from the tree, landing gracefully, with a soft thud. Thor always wondered how she managed to do so without getting her skirt or hair caught in the branches.

"How has your day been?" He asks in hopes of changing the conversation.

"Well," she starts. "I tended to my apples and flowers."

She begins to walk between the trees, leading them back to the main gardens.

"I was in the orchard gardens earlier and I came across a few young maidens who asked me to plait their hair with flowers!" She motions to her head where a garland sits upon her head, weaved out of violet and blue flowers.

"Oh!" She exclaimed with excitement. "Not long before you came around, a great big bird came swooping down to greet me. But it nearly knocked me out of the tree!"

Thor laughs along with her, finding the imagery of her falling out of a tree unimaginable. He says so.

"When I was younger I was taking rest in a tree, but you see I was not yet apt at tree-balancing and the wind knocked me right out. When I was tumbling down, a thorn snagged my dress and nearly unraveled it completely from me!" She giggles at the memory.

A blush creeps its way into Thor's cheeks at the thought Idunn nude, but he tries to tilt his head away so she cannot see it. 

After her laughter dies down she asks, "How has your day been, little bird?"

"Hm?" Thor whips his head back, having been lost in thought. "Oh, I trained with Geir all morning."

She hums, swinging slightly from side to side, pausing occasionally to look at one flower or another. "How are your friends?"

"They're well," Thor says. "Oh, that reminds me. I came to ask you for your counsel on something."

"What is that?" She inclines her head, to look down at him.

"Well," Thor starts. He thwacks at the ground with a stick he had picked up. "Sif has been acting odd around me. She refuses to spar me during our lessons, but she still fights Volstagg and the other kids. She even fights Fandral and she can't stand Fandral."

Idunn smiled at him curiously, like she knew something he did not. "I think Lady Sif has been quite taken with you."

Thor furrows his brow in confusion. Of course she likes him, they're friends. Idunn looks at him coyly and it dawns on him.

"Oh," he says simply.

His face heats up at the realization. He grimaces thinking of Sif the way he does Idunn; she's like a sister to him.

"And if I don't return those...feelings?"

Idunn places her hand gently on his head. "Then you tell her, but kindly."

"Won't she be mad?" The thought of Sif's anger directed at him gave him chills.

“She may be sad for a while, but she is your friend and all great friends come around,” she twirls a small yellow flower between her fingertips as she said so.

“Aye,” he says softly, a bit overwhelmed by the prospect of having to do this.

“Don’t worry, little bird. You’ll find you’re beloved one day,” Idunn reassures him.

His heart plummets, much like any child’s does when they realize the person they fancy will never see them in such a light.

“How do you find someone like that?” Thor asks curiously, trying to sort his emotions.

“You cannot search for something like love. Love isn’t something you find; it cannot be conquered or won. Love is something that finds you, little bird.”

Thor pouted, finding himself more confused and frustrated as his questions were answered.

“How do you know when you’re in love then?”

Idunn smiles wistfully, and Thor wonders if she has someone in mind when she speaks.

“Love, you see, unites the souls between two bodies. When you’re apart, it feels like you’re leaving a part of yourself behind. Nobody, mortal or God, can live with only half a soul.”

 

* * *

 

He’s lounging on the throne, his feet kicked over the side, staring up at the vast ceiling. His face is tense and prickled with worry.

Thor’s father and brother had left to join the last effort against the Jotunn. They had left a few days prior, and word had not gotten back yet. He does not worry that something might happen to his father—like his mother who is locked away in her chambers—he is the strongest of the Gods, invincible to all. But his brother, while Aesir, was weaker and not guaranteed to make it back.

Baldr, being gifted with premonitions, had woken in a cold sweat a few nights before. Most of his dreams were convoluted and hard to decipher, but he was clear in knowing that something tragic would happen during the end of the war. He did not know to who and it left the family in questions.

Thor wondered if one gifted with premonitions could foresee their own demise.

“Thor, what are you doing up there?” He hears Idunn calling from the middle of the throne room. She is tense, her words brusque and she rarely calls him by his name.

Thor lolls his head to the side to gaze at her. “Do you think they’re well?”

Something in her face gives way. Her brows curve up in a saddened expression. “I believe in their ability to handle anything that is thrown their way.”

Thor turns away from her. She sounds unconvincing; she must be frantic as well, seeing how close friends she is with Baldr.

“Now get down from there before your mother sees you,” she chastises.

Thor huffs and straightens his legs so that he is sitting properly. At that moment the doors are thrust open.

His eyes for a moment catch the gaze of a stranger, but the intensity behind those green orbs is searing and he cannot hold it for very long. He finds his father quickly and when he focuses on the figure behind him, and finds it to be his brother in one piece, a weight is lifted off his chest. He does not need to look at Idunn to know she feels the same.

Quickly, he scrambles off the throne, chagrin to have been found where is not meant to be. “Father! You’re back!”

He strides down the throne steps in two, barely restraining himself from running.

Thor smiles at Baldr, their eyes locking for a moment, communicating in a way that only those closest can. Baldr’s lips twitch and he tries to brave his face for the younger boy, but Thor can see the ghosts that live behind his eyes. It had been Baldr’s first war, and while he recognized that war changes a man, Thor was primarily caught up in the glory of it all. He was almost miffed he hadn’t gone, now seeing that the two were perfectly fine.

It is then that he notices the child that Baldr hovers over cautiously. He is striking in a way Thor had never encountered before. The boy couldn’t have been far from his age, perhaps a bit younger, though his eyes carried a weight Thor had only recognized in aged Gods. His bright emerald eyes seemed almost too big for his thin face, and his dark hair curled around the bones of his cheeks, adding a severity to his appearance.

Cheeks red and agitated, sported tears stains and scuffs where bruises would emerge. The boy struggled against his captors, fidgeting like a rabid animal. But what astounded him was not any of these little things, but instead the immense power that the boy emanated, coming off him in abrasive, violent waves. Thor struggled, simply to stand his ground; he tries not to let it show.

“Who is this?” He asks.

His father gives him no concern, asking instead in return, “Where is your mother?”

Thor frowns, hating when his father blatantly treated him in such a manner—like he was a petulant child.

“In her chambers,” he says sulking.

Odin looks above him and addresses Idunn. “Idunn send for Frigga and take Thor to his chambers.”

Hot anger pools in his abdomen. After the time Odin had spent away at war, leaving Thor and his mother to agonize, only to come back and disregard Thor—to sanction him to his chambers like he was only a mere bother—it boiled the blood in the young God’s veins.

Idunn’s hand on his shoulder comes like a cold shock to his system and without much fight, he follows her.

His mother passes him in a flurry; she must’ve heard word of Odin’s return before he had. Idunn gazes after her for a moment, before steering Thor out of the throne room. When he’s turning the corner into the main hall, he catches sight of the prisoner boy being forced onto his knees.

A cold constriction ices it’s way across his chest, and he is filled with dread. He halts and glances at Idunn.

“They’re going to execute him,” he whispers, though he can’t fathom the very words he speaks.

Something flashes in Idunn’s eyes. “You don’t know that, Thor.”

She grabs at his hand, attempting to pull him further down the hall. “Even if what you say is true, he is a prisoner, and you must have faith that Allfather is just in his decision.”

Thor’s brows crease with outrage. “He’s just a child! He’s-he’s like me–how could he…” He falters.

A scream erupts from behind them and his stomach drops at the sound.

Thor pulls away from her. “Father! He can’t–no, no! How could he do something so horrid!”

Idunn forces him forward, though her face is stricken with the same expression Thor wears. She drags him down the hall, and as Thor trips over his own steps, his head is filled with wails of agony. For the first time in his life, he questions his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don’t think i’ll write from Thor’s perspective much if at all going forward. this was mostly to explore what Thor’s childhood was like without Loki as a brother  
> 2\. Hela exists! though she wont really play a role in this fic sadly (i really want to write her in future works tho). she IS Odin’s and Frigga’s eldest.  
> 3\. im going to try to be quicker with the updates! especially bc i have some new chapters already written, but please be patient with me, uni is killing me  
> 4\. please leave kudos and comments! i love to hear from you guys (-:


	3. Until You're Blue in the Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im blue da ba dee da ba daa lol  
> [the chapter title has nothing to do with the fact that jotunns are blue]

He wakes to the red of his eyelids straining out the light of a fire. He is cold, his right-shoulder exposed to the breezes of a window, though he is wet with sweat. His body clings to the fabric beneath him, and when Loki rises it peels off him reluctantly.

It aches to move and when he swings his legs out over the side of the bed, his arms wobble from his weight. His thigh aches when he does so, stinging and sharp, and he knows without looking that he has a flesh wound. When he stands the sheets pull against his left wrist and he winces, raising his arms up to the light to inspect them. They are an angry, splotchy red, and blisters have bubbled in certain spots. 

His breath catches in his throat. There are two runes, one on the insides of each wrist, swirling on his skin in thick black lines.

Loki keens a high pitched sound that comes out hoarse and broken. He feels the cold; it comes from within. It had never felt like this in his moments of weakness when he could not access his magic. Before his magic pooled within him and he simply had to dive into it, allowing it to engulf his entirety. Now there was nothing, he was desolate, a mere shell. Without magic, he was nothing. Only a degenerate Jotunn orphan, now prisoner of Asgard.

He weeps and caves, falling to the ground in an undignified heep. The doors to the room open, followed by pattering footsteps, but he's too overcome with grief to notice. Two lithe arms snake around the small boy and Loki can only glimpse a white gown before he is being pulled closer.

“There, there,” coos the soft voice of the maiden. “You should not be out of bed, little Prince.”

Loki hiccups into her bosom and attempts to quell his erratic breath. When he thinks he has calmed, another burst of cries racks through his body and he further slumps into the woman’s hold. She holds him dearly, passing her hand over his back in a soothing nature.

Loki does not pause to think. He does not chastise himself for seeking comfort in the arms of another, especially that of an Asgardian woman, perhaps even a servant. He can only cry and soon his sobs lessen and he is taken once again by sleep.

 

 

The next morning he awakes light-headed, his body woozy with exhaust and unrest. His eyes sting when they flutter open and he soon realizes that there is a woman tending to his arms.

Loki watches her with half-lidded eyes as she presses cold rags against his irritated flesh. There is something familiar about her and when she looks up he recognizes the small elvish face and the striking blue of her eyes.

“Good morning, little Prince,” Idunn says in a lilting voice; he recognizes her voice from the night before. She sits back on her stool and picks up a golden apple from a wicker basket at his beside. There is funny smile on her face as she begins to peel the apple with a small knife. She does not look up from her task when she asks:

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Loki does not answer, fearful of his traitorous tongue.

Idunn quirks a brow at his silence and huffs in amusement. “Oh, now you’re silent.”

Lowering his gaze, he watches the rhythmic movement of the knife peeling away skin. Eventually the entire apple is pared, leaving it bare and naked. Idunn cuts the fruit into slices and proffers one to Loki, who looks at the offer skeptically.

“Eat up now. My apples are good for the soul,” the Goddess holds the fruit closer to him, now bending at the waist. “Among other things.”

Loki considers rejecting her, but his stomach twists with hunger at the sight of food. He takes the slice of apple and pops it into his mouth, taken aback by the utter sweetness.

“I have been charged as your caretaker,” Idunn offers him a second slice as she says this. “So you’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”

Loki snarls around the fruit. “I don’t need be looked out for.” He certainly never needed it before.

Idunn only makes a sound of amusement at this and continues to peel apples. When Loki looks beyond her he sees the room’s doors, tall and certainly guarded. There is a door a few feet from the main entrance, leading to a bathroom he assumes, and to his right is a bookcase. It’s barren though. Perhaps they thought it too dangerous to give a Jotunn access to Asgardian text. For that they are clever, for Loki would have poured day and night over any text that could reveal weaknesses or means of escape. There is a set of chairs with a small table between them nestled in the corner of the room and at the foot of the bed is a closed chest, likely filled with linens.

The balcony doors are thrown open, though he cannot see beyond the stone railing. The sun is hot on his skin and he groans pushing back his hair and wishing he was home. He thinks it is foolish of them to put him in a room with a balcony, but it's likely it will be locked when at night or when he’s alone. And without his magic he is useless against locks. But maybe he’s wrong, maybe they really are foolish and don’t think him desperate enough to throw himself over the ledge. Idunn watches him all the while and says:

“Well, supper is in a few hours, so don’t fill your belly with too many apples.” Idunn stands, dusting off her lap. “I will bring it to your room. You are welcome to bathe in the meantime. Just notify the guards and I will run one for you.”

Loki grimaces at the sweat that cakes his body in a thin layer, thinking he’d much appreciate a bath. “Could you run one now instead?”

Idunn smiles at him warmly, uncomfortably for someone he just met. “Certainly, little Prince.”

She leaves to enter the bathroom and when she is out of sight, Loki pushes the bedding aside and stands, knees nearly buckling under his weight. He moves towards the balcony, past its flutterings curtains.

The summer’s wind fans around him, cooling him slightly and he is grateful for the small relief. He walks cautiously to the stone balustrade and peers over its edge. Below is a wide courtyard, lush with green grass and foliage. Across the way he catches a flash of bright hair in the sunlight. _Thor._ In the huge yard, he shone like a flame, vital and bright, drawing Loki’s eye against his will. He stands with a group of other children whose mouths are wide with laughter at something he had said or done. He seems utterly unaware of his effect on the boys or perhaps he simply does not care. Though Loki could not imagine: they crowded him like dogs in their eagerness, tongues lolling. When he runs, jumps or is seated, his limbs do not skew as Loki’s do, but arrange themselves with perfect grace, as if for a sculptor.

He watches all of this from his place in an isolated section of the palace. The keen edge of his envy is like flint, a spark away from fire.

An instructor calls to the boys and they straighten, following out his orders dutifully. They were training, Loki thought. He quirks a brow at the sight of Thor squaring against a girl, though he does not doubt her strength. She stands assuredly, long blonde hair tied back, lean muscles glinting with sweat.

Thor’s dusty feet scuffed against the ground as he rounded. They were not cracked and calloused as Loki’s were. The young Jotunn shifts on his bare feet and wonders if he will be offered shoes; he sours at the thought of having to remain barefoot, walking as a commoner. Thor’s feet beat against the ground, pink and sweetly brown beneath the dirt. _Prince_ , Loki sneers inside his head.

Thor turns, as if he had heard Loki. For a second their eyes hold, and Loki feels a shock pulse through him. He jerks his head away, ashamed to have been caught staring openly. His cheeks are hot  and his skin prickled as if before a storm. When at last, he ventures to look up again, Thor has turned his back to the palace and is narrowly avoiding the jabs of the girl.

“Your bath is ready.”

Loki turns quickly at the sound of Idunn’s voice.

She is watching him curiously, hands clasped delicately at her front and lips curled queerly. “I would advise waiting a few minutes for the water to cool. I’m sure you are not...adapted to such temperatures.”

He hopes his silence is enough of a dismissal for her and when she leaves he slips back into the room. He sheds his clothes quickly after entering the bathroom and moves towards the steaming water. He sits at the edge of the bath and dips a careful finger into the water, pulling it back with a whine when it scalds him. His finger flashes blue where it is burned before molding back into its glamour and leaving behind angry red.

Sighing, he pushes off the tub to stand in front of the mirror. His reflection is peculiar. His glamoured self stares back and no matter how much he focuses he cannot change his appearance back. His frown deepens as his eyes land on the offensive twists of black on his arms and he nearly wishes to take a knife to the skin.

An ugly dark plume of emotion whirls inside him and in his turmoil he turns away from the mirror and descents into the steaming tub.

His skins sears and he can feel a scream climbing up his throat but it doesn’t matter because for a moment his skin flares a recognizable blue.

 

 

When the water has turned cool with time, Loki finally gets out. His skin is raw and he winces at the slightest touch when passing a cloth over himself.

He finds a pair of trousers and a linen tunic folded neatly on the bed. Loki picks the shirt up, thumbing the material in between his fingers. He glances back at the clothes he had haphazardly thrown on the bathroom floor and realizes someone must have changed him out of his Jotunn attire when he was unconscious. His cheeks flush at the thought.

He pulls the clothes on, thinking that nothing about him was recognizable. Not even his clothes. However he refuses to wallow, if only in his father’s memory. Laufey hated to see him cry and Loki hated even more to disappoint his father.

Then and there, sitting curled on the floor and watching the sun slowly become consumed by the horizon, Loki made a promise to himself and to his father.

No tears would be shed until he returned to Jotunheim. Not until he sat on the throne and honoured his father by leading Jotunheim into a new prosperous era.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he wakes to the sound of a frantic gasp and a tug on the collar of his tunic. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes to see Idunn crowding him with a worried expression.

“Loki, what happened?” She asks pulling him into a sitting position and his brain lolls in his head when she does so. In his disorientation he does not fight her from forcefully shucking his tunic off.

It's only then when she’s examining his torso, looking uncharacteristically frantic, that he realizes she had called him by his first name.

She repeats her question and Loki shrugs away from her uncomfortable grip.

“The water was hotter than I expected,” he supplied dully.

Idunn looked at him in disbelief but she held her tongue, her pretty mouth pursing. She stands from the bed and though she seems to have regained her composure, he can still detect the blatant concern in her eyes.

“I will be back in a moment,” she does not meet his eyes when she says so and something about her tone makes Loki feel as if she is upset with him. It leaves him feeling more uneasy than expected.

When she returns she is holding a grey mortar that she places on the nightstand.

“Are your legs burned as well?”

Loki shrugs and she must take this as an affirmative reply because she then orders him to disrobe.

His face flushes with anger and he says sputtering, “Excuse me?”

Idunn looks at him sternly. “I cannot heal what I cannot see.”

Loki glares at her and when it's clear that her resolve won’t break, he lets out an outraged grunt and removes his trousers. She quickly begins spreading a pale green salve on the wounds; its sticky against his skin and the strong smell of herbs tickle his nose.

They do not speak while she administers to his burns. There is something coiled tight in Idunn, a sharp thought or words she bites back. Her expression is reticent, her eyes distant and pensive.

Loki lolls his head to the side, not wanting to feel the cold of her silence. He lets out a heavy breath; it racks against his ribs, coming out with difficulty. He exhales another, imagines his breath is blue, like the rivers of Jotunheim, coursing and parting over the folds in his linen sheets.

He wants to dip his feet in those waters again, slide down hills of ice and snow. What he would do, just to feel the crisp air against his cheeks once more. He wishes even to feel the hot, arid air he had felt the day before. Anything apart from the stale, suffocation that he’s in.

 

* * *

 

For the following thirteen days Loki was confined to what he had started to refer to as his chambers, with only the occasional company of Idunn when she came to tend to his injuries or bring meals.

At this pace, it wouldn’t take long for Loki to become crippled with insanity. He thought that might be their goal: render him powerless and then completely mad.

When Idunn came by the room she would open the balcony doors and Loki would wait a few minutes before wandering outside, so as to not look eager. Though he hated the heat and the sun was still too glaringly bright for his liking, being able to breathe fresh air was comparable to none.

Occasionally, when he was allowed on the balcony there would be training sessions in order or he would watch a stray Asgardian pass through. But he still hadn’t seen Thor since that day and it irked him. That boy was the only interesting thing about this place.  

Idunn enters then with a tray carrying Loki’s dinner. Loki was already sitting at the small table, having anticipated her arrival.

Idunn places bread, water and a small bowl of stew in front of him; the steam curls up from the bowl and his stomach growls at the savory smell. Loki stirred the stew idly, waiting for it to cool. A harvest moon, full and orange, hung in the dusk beyond the balcony windows. Typically Idunn would leave by now, yet she lingered. When he looks up at her she is watching the moon as well.

“It’s a beautiful evening, don’t you think, little Prince?” There's something off about her voice and Loki wonders if something had upset her during the day.

He doesn’t answer however, choosing to nibble on his bread instead.

Idunn turns to him and asks, “May I sit with you?”

Loki blanks before nodding eagerly, his yearning for company overruling his stubbornness. She takes her seat across from him but her gaze quickly slips back to the balcony. He eats quietly, uncertain of the _Aesir’s_ uncharacteristic mood.

Absently, he pushes his hair from his eyes; it had grown longer over the two weeks he had been here. He reaches for a bowl in the center of the table that held figs and plucked one out. He threw it in the air in a graceful arc and watched it fall back into the cup of his palm, soft and ripe. When he brought the fruit to his lips, its burst of grainy sweetness filled his mouth; the skin was downy on his tongue. He had loved figs, once. 

“Who are you exactly, Idunn?” Loki ventures.

A small smile forms on the woman’s face before she lazily turns to look at him. She looks tired, perhaps a tinge sad, Loki thought. 

“Well, I don’t suppose you would know. I was told that you were quite sheltered in Jotunheim.”

Loki neglects to answer so she continues.

“I am well-known as the Keeper of the Golden Apples.”

Loki’s eyes widen, having recognized the name from a book he had read long ago. “You are the Goddess of immortality?” He thinks back to when they had first met and remembers of when she fed him apples.

Idunn’s smile cracks wide as she watches Loki come to realization. “You should visit my trees one day.”

Loki brightens for a moment before his expression darkens. “If I’m ever allowed out of this room.”

Idunn’s mouth twitches and she lowers her gaze.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering about Prince Thor,” Loki asks, attempting to direct the conversation in a different direction.

Idunn raises a curious brow at him. “Now what could that be, little Prince?”

Loki frowns slightly at the patronizing nickname. “Why is it that he wears the circlet of an heir if he is the youngest? I wasn't aware your royal customs differed so drastically from mine.”

Something flashes across Idunn’s face, too quick for Loki to analyze. “Well, you are correct that the throne is inherited by the eldest. Baldr may be the eldest in line but he is not fit to rule, so naturally Thor will shoulder the burden.”

Loki frowns, puzzles by why she would describe reign as burdening. “Why is that?”

Idunn’s mouth quirkes as if she was unsure of how much she should say. Something must have swayed her because she answers curtly, “He is the bastard son of Odin and therefore unfit to rule.”

Loki’s eyes widen a fraction, though he should not be all that surprised; it was a reasonable explanation. Though he supposed it must be difficult to have to hand the crown to your kid brother. Loki wonders if that is how his own brothers felt. It would certainly explain their hostility.

“Well,” Idunn says as she stands and gathers the dishes in her hands. “I think that's enough for tonight.”

Despair claws at his throat and he desperately wishes for her to stay longer, craving deeply the simplicity of conversation and the presence of another. He restrains himself and instead asks for something more sensible.

“Idunn,” voice wavering slightly. “Do you think you would be able to bring me a book or two? It’s awfully boring being alone in a room with nothing to do.”

The Goddess seems caught off guard for a moment but she recovers quickly and beams at him fondly. “I will see what I can do.”

Loki allows himself to smile lightly in return. He follows her half-heartedly, stopping by the bed to watch her go.

“Goodnight, little Prince.”

He opens his mouth to say it back but the door has already closed behind her. Loki sits back on the bed and flattens a bump in the quilt with his hand.

With a heavy heart he says ‘Goodnight’ to the empty air and lies down to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He wakes the next morning to the loud sound of the chamber doors opening and the shaking of his shoulders, as he struggles against the webbings of his dreams.

“Little Prince, you must wake,” came the soft voice of the Goddess.

Loki looks at Idunn blearily and sat up in bed, attempting to shake the sleep from his body. The blue moon still hung low in the sky; Idunn had never come to his chambers at such a time, meaning she was not here to bring him food.

Idunn pulls the blankets away from him, and he was tempted to snatch them back, though he did not, knowing she would not come to him like this if it was not of importance.

“Come,” she beckons him from the bed. “We must prepare you before the sun rises.”

Loki was too caught up in Idunn’s insist pushing and prodding to ask what the fuss was about. She pulled him into the bathroom where the tub was already full to the brim and he wondered if she had filled it as he slept.

“Undress,” she orders. “You can leave your clothes in the doorway. I will have a girl come by to pick them up.”

Loki follows her instructions silently, having gotten used to being nude in front of the Goddess after weeks of tending to his wounds.

She dipped her hand in the tub and then motioned for him to touch the water. “Is it too hot?”

Loki touches the water timidly, having grown wary of its heat, and shakes his head. Taking her hand, he slips into the tub, relaxing at the feeling of the tepid water lapping at his skin.

He is rinsed and scrubbed with oils and lathers that he has never seen before. Still drowsy, he does not fight it and simply watches the Goddess as she works. When she begins to apply the oil to his hair, massaging it in, Loki nearly falls back asleep. It shocks him how quickly he has become comfortable with the woman, but he supposes it has to do with the lack of variety in people he was allowed to see.  

He begins to slack in her hold and doesn’t stir until she pulls him into a standing position. Idunn wraps him in a warm towel and steers him back into the room, where the sun has began to peek from above its cover.

Then he is dressed with clothes unknown to him; narrow dark trousers, a gray tunic and a green vest that fastened to his shoulders with broad leather straps. It’s when Idunn is frantically fastening his boots that he fully wakes from his night’s slumber, and ventures to ask the Goddess why she had come to him at all.

“You have been summoned by the King,” she replies distractedly. “He expects to meet you before we break fast.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah this might not have been the most exciting chapter since not much happened, but i wanted to update you guys quickly (-: thank you for reading!


	4. Simmer

True to Idunn’s words, he was escorted from his chambers to the throne room, where he would await Odin’s arrival.

Loki knelt on stone, at the forceful hand of a guard; some kings chose to have rugs for the knees of messengers who had long news to tell. Odin, apparently, preferred not to.

When Odin took his seat at the throne, Loki refused to meet the King’s eyes, settling for staring at the cool marble of the palace’s floor.

“Loki,” the God stated as more of a mere observation than a calling.

He had almost grown accustomed to it now, the bareness of his name, without his Father’s behind it. Loki looked up, to see the King peering at him curiously.

He seems old to me, Loki thought, bent over, but he was no more than his father had been at the time of his untimely death. He did not look like a man who had conquered Jotunheim no less than a month prior.

“You are here because you made a direct attack on me and my men. You were also consequently abandoned by your half-brothers during the war. Do you understand?”

This was the cruelty of adults. _Do you understand?_

“Yes,” Loki told him. He could have told him more, of the dreams that left him bleary and bloodshot, the almost-screams that scraped his throat as he swallowed them down. The way the stars turned and turned through the night above his unsleeping eyes.

Odin studied him for a moment. “You are still welcome here. I have decided that with the current circumstances and the volatility of the war, you will be charged as my ward.”

Loki felt his hands shake with an emotion so demanding it had no name.

“You may still make a good man.” He meant it as comfort.

 

 

Later that day, he was pulled once again from his chambers, but this time he was not led down the long walk up the endless throne room. Instead, he was led down unfamiliar corridors and stopped at a hall with only one ornate door at the end.

A guard pauses outside the door, knocking to announce their presence; Loki’s fingers twitch at his side uselessly, as his heart quickens.

Someone, a maid, opens the door and after she exchanges a few words with the guard she steps aside to allow their entrance.

Upon entering, he is immediately floored by the grandeur of the chambers. The ceiling is impossibly high, even so that he cannot detect the painting that is scrawled across it. In the center of the room is a bath so large, Loki thinks one might drown in it. Still he is drawn to it.

When he ambles towards it, he notices that the surface of the water is covered in the petals of numerous colorful flowers. The pool of water glimmers from the shine of light that flows from the wide open arches of stone windows. When his eyes linger at the window he catches sight of Frigga.

In his dismay he stumbles backwards, foot slipping off the stone steps of the bath. He is caught swiftly by a maid, though she releases him before he can glare at her.

Frigga turns to him and offers a warm smile. Loki wonders offhandedly if every royal will be requesting his presence today.

“Loki. I’m glad you came.” Frigga takes her seat at a small round table and motions for him to follow suit.

Loki scowls thinking, he wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter. For a moment he considers rejecting her offer to sit, but when his mind flickers back to the guards posted at the entrance, he disregards the rebellious thought. He’d rather not find out what ramifications he may be met with when disobeying a Queen.

Swallowing his pride, he takes his seat across from her and places his hands mannerly in his lap. He has nothing to say to the Goddess who stripped him of his magic, so he watches the servants scamper to bring them tea and assortments.

“Idunn tells me that you have requested reading material,” Frigga baits.

Loki feels a flash of betrayal, though he rationalizes that it would be customary for his caretaker to report back to his new “wardens”.

He remains silent, favoring to sip at his tea, even though it is too hot and nearly burns him.

Frigga’s eyes flicker with something Loki hopes is annoyance. Maybe then she will send him back to his chambers, and he will be left alone.

She does not however. “I thought you might enjoy taking a stroll through my library.”

Though his heart aches at the mention of a library, he still perks slightly at the thought of reading. Frigga catches this and a smile returns to her face, knowing she’s found one of Loki’s soft spots.

Frigga waves her hand and a servant comes to her side. “Dear, would you mind…” Loki doesn’t catch the rest as it turns to whispers.

He watches her curiously.

The maid scurries off out of sight and Frigga turns to him.

“Your Majesty is not going to take me,” Loki says matter of factly, though he cannot hide the disappointment from his voice.

Frigga frowns a bit. “I’d love nothing more than to show you around the library, but unfortunately today’s circumstances do not allow it.” She pauses, as if deciding whether or not Loki is trustworthy enough of further explanation. She settles the battle in her mind and says cautiously:

“I must tend to my husband, for the time being… But afterwards, I will make sure to follow up on my promise.”

Loki notes this to ask Idunn of it later, though he’s not certain if she’ll even answer him. Before he can open his mouth the servant from earlier is at their side, handing a sizable book to the Queen. Frigga dismisses the servant, all the while beaming down at the book she held; her face holds such warmth, that Loki is sure the book is prompting nostalgia.

Flipping the book onto the table so to have it in Loki’s view, she places a finger on the cover and smiles up at him.

“This here is filled with some of the greatest epics ever written,” she says, voice full of glee. “I used to read them to Thor before bed. He thinks he is much too grown for them now, but I’m sure you will find some entertainment in them.”

Loki passes a timid brush over the elaborate cover, and he is sure his face is brimming with excitement, even if he did not wish to give the Sorceress any morsole of satisfaction. The young Jotunn picks the book up into his arms; it is hefty and its weight reminds him of his own grimoire.

“Well, young one,” Frigga addresses him. “When you’ve read through that, notify Idunn and I’ll personally give you a tour of the library.”

Loki looks up, blinking and nods. She is still smiling at him, but he can tell that there is something pressing on her mind, as if she’s itching to get out of her seat.

She regards him for a moment before saying, “I’ll have one of my servants escort you back to you’re chambers.”

Loki had been raised in a court and knows dismissal when he hears it.

 

* * *

 

Not long after his meeting with the Queen, Loki is hit with an abrupt wave of disdain—so sour he could nearly taste it on his tongue. In his anger his stomach twirled, twisted, and knotted itself impossibly.

He had sat there, pleasantly, across from the very _monster_ that had sealed away his magic, without as much as a word of contempt. A pang of shame echoes through him; its ugly in its nature, curling into the crevices of his mind and poisoning his every thought. His father would be disappointed to see him submit so easily to their enemies.

And he had to remind himself that they _were_ his enemies. Odin at most and Frigga at second. But everyone else as well. The other _Aesir;_ the soldiers that had dragged him to the realm and the ones that were posted at his chamber doors, keeping him imprisoned; the maids, who refused to speak to him during their brief interactions, either out of fear or disregard; Baldr, who did not as much question the morality in his father's decisions.

Thor _._

His envy was overwhelming, the sharp blades of it sticking into his sides. The Prince who had it all and cared for none of it.

Loki was a prince as well—he had to keep reminding himself more often these days—but in the shadow of Thor, he was laughable. Loki had never once felt the warmth that the boy was showered in, had never been waited on and admired by his people, had never been doted on by a Mother, had never been _loved_ so deeply.

He had everything Loki yearned for so desperately, and he despised him for it.

His rage rocked within him, shaking like a ship in the tumultuous hands of the sea. Instinctually, his hand shot forward, palm reaching, expecting but not receiving.

Loki had forgotten, if only for a moment, that he was powerless.

His hand fell to his side, clenched now in a tight fist, his nails tearing crescents into the flesh of his palm. He struck a small ceramic dish with his other hand, and it smashed against the ground into a brilliant array of shards. It gave way a small bit of relief. Quickly, he began to tear, rip, throw, kick, punch, absolutely everything and anything he could in the room.

In his wrath, he had grabbed an apple and thrown it against the balcony doors. It gave an awful thump and the force had spattered chunks across the room.

Loki's eyes widened and he felt an uncomfortable sense of guilt override his one of anger.

He thought of the Goddess, her kind words and soft smiles. Idunn had been nothing but good to him since he had arrived here, and he was sure that there were many things she could be doing that were far more worthy of her time. She was one of the oldest Gods, one of the first.

And yet with all her power, she was complicit. Was it not her who was placed as his caretaker but more importantly as his watcher?  There was no doubt that the King would use her as an informant, and if she was, could anything she had said or done be trusted. Was it all a facade? She was one of the oldest Gods, Loki would not be surprised if she had in her time learned to be a master of deception.

Loki turned away from the desecrated fruit, feeling scorned.

What disturbed him most, was not of the possibility of this, but how deeply Loki did not want it to be true.

 

* * *

 

The book Frigga had given him had somehow remained unscathed in his fit of rage. It had fallen right beneath the table it had sat upon and Loki was saddened to see any book in such a state. But as soon his eyes had fallen on it, he forced them away, berating himself for wanting to crack it open. For all he knew it could be laced with waiting hexes. He knew this was not true because he had already touched it.

The maids come in not longer after, rushing in quietly and trying to gather up the broken miscellaneous pieces and disregarded linens. One of them, a small petite woman, hung hesitantly by the door.

When Loki had felt her presence he had turned his head slightly, thinking it would be someone of importance. The maid gave an incredible flinch when their gazes met, averting it immediately. Another woman, older, vaguely familiar, nudged her in the side, spurring the young girl into moving.

She didn’t look up at him again.

He felt a sudden urge to curl up and hide, and so he did just that; bundling himself in, the sheets tucked below his chin.

Eventually the disorganized rustle of the maids quieted down and he sighed with relief.

“Thank you girls. You may leave now.”

Loki’s heart skipped in his chest. He could feel Idunn at the end of his bed, looking at him, fretting. He didn’t have to look at her to know the face she made.

The anger still simmered in his belly, hot and insatiable.

She stepped forward and stepped back, trying to get a look at his face, but he was turned so inward, so distant. She knew it was wiser to not press when the boy was in such moods. It would only end in screams and curses.

The Goddess lingered for a few moments, giving him time in case he decided to speak up. He did not. And eventually, she left too.

 

 

The next morning when Idunn arrives with food, Loki is still in the same position he was the night before, though his resolve is much weaker. He’s staring at a peculiar crack in the wall and wonders if he’d caused it.

Idunn sets this tray of pastries and fruit on the small sitting table and slowly makes her way to his side. The bed dips under her weight and Loki shifts to allow her to sit next to him comfortably.

She lays a soft hand on his head, her thin fingers smoothing out the frayed strands of his hair.

Loki closes his eyes and something inside him gives way. He sits up for a moment before leaning against her, resting his head against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is rough and faint, but she hears him nonetheless.

She brings her hand to the side of his head and leans into him. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for Little Prince. If the room was not to your liking we can always look at different patterns for your sheets or things that suit your taste better.”

She is teasing him. But Loki is not apologizing for trashing the room and they both know it.

He is glad that though Idunn was incredibly powerful, she was not gifted with being able to read his thoughts. He does not want her to know what he had thought. That he had wanted, if only for a few moments, to kill her.

His stomach twists with guilt and rejects the food she offers him.

“Could you open the balcony? I think I need some fresh air,” he asks instead.

She gives him a pleasant smile and has one of the servant boys unlock the doors.

The sun beats down on him harshly, and it is an amazement that he hasn’t sizzled under its intensity. If he had his magic, he could easily regulate his body temperature. He had done it many times in Jotunheim; although he was a Laufeyson, his skin was smoother, more alike an Asgardians, and not thick enough for the cold winters that would pass through the realm.

A shallow wave of melancholy swirls through him.

He leans against the balustrade and rests his head against his forearms, his eyes scanning the courtyard.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Loki doesn’t feel like lying. “Thor.”

Idunn’s lips curve at the name. “You know he asks about you frequently.”

Loki tries to keep the shock from his face and attempts to look disinterested. “Does he?”

Idunn giggles and bumps his shoulder, seeing right through his facade. “Yes. He’s been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Idunn eyes him. “I suppose you’re quite a mystery to him. He knows you are a Prince and now his father’s and mother’s ward, but he does not know how you came to be here. I’m sure he is mostly just excited that there is someone new in the palace.”

Loki snorts. “He does not know I’m Jotunn?”

Idunn hums. “No. The Allfather thought it best to keep your identity hidden. There are many here who would jump at the chance to harm you.”

“Including his son?”

Idunn purses her lips in thought. “Thor is a child. He thinks in black and white. He was raised to believe that the Jotunn are Asgards enemies and it will be difficult for him to understand why his father has not executed you.”

Loki laughs at this. “Isn’t he older than me?”

Idunn smiles at him. “By 300 years I do believe.”

“Then I don’t want to meet him.”

Her smile fades, replaced by a pout. “He will learn with time that things are not so simple.”

Loki snides in annoyance. “Am I to lie about who I am then?”

Idunn blinks. “I would never tell you to do anything you did not want to, Little Prince.”

Loki turns away from her, not knowing how to handle the sincerity in her words.

Idunn squeezed his hand in reassurance. “You will meet him and many others soon. Things will change, Loki, I promise.”

Idunn had never lied to him before, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to believe her.

 

* * *

 

When Idunn leaves him, he feels lighter, like she had taken the weight that had sat on his chest for days, away with her. He breathes out evenly, letting the air sit idle in his lungs before exhaling it.

The night is quickly approaching, and Loki is glad for it; the days stretched so much longer here, whereas Jotunheim spent most of its hours under a blanket of darkness, Asgard spent most of its under the sun.

In his endless boredom, Loki finds himself eyeing the book Frigga had lent him. At some point during their visit, Idunn had picked the book up, resting it on the chest at the foot of his bed. The bitterness in him eases as he crawls across the bed and pulls the book towards him. He arranged himself so that he's on his stomach, opening the book up leisurely.

It does not take him long to realize the type of book it was, holding mostly Asgardian tales and the stories of their Gods.

 _Before there was soil, or sky, or any green thing, there was only the gaping abyss of_ _Ginnungagap_ _…_ it began.

He read of the The Creation, how frost from Niflheim and billowing flames from Muspelheim had created Ymir, the first of the Giant Gods. How Audhumla, a cow, had licked away at salt in the ice until the first Aesir, Buri, emerged. Who then sired Bor, who would then marry Bestla, the daughter of the giant Bolthorn. And from them came forth Vili, Ve, and Odin.

Loki frowned; he did not care for Odin's origin, and skimmed past it until he found something to his interest.

The first war. Loki's eyes gleam with interest and he begins to read about the Aesir and Vanir.

He learns of Freya, a Vanir goddess, the most powerful practitioner of _seiðr_. Loki perked at the word, one that struck a familiarity, he was sure he had heard it fall from his Father's lips once, but had forgotten. He thought its description was similar to his own magic, and began greedily consuming any information he could find on Freya.

 _Blaming Freya for their own shortcomings, the Aesir accused her of Gullveig,_ gold-greed Loki translated in his head. _And attempted to murder her. Three times they tried to burn her, and three times she was reborn from the ashes._

His eyes widened, a cold chill of fear made down his spine. If it was true that his magic was in fact _seiðr_ , then it would explain why Odin had been so cautious with his prisoner. If he grew more powerful and was able to wield his magic like Freya, would the Aesir attempt to burn him as well?

In his reading, he found many accounts of the closeness between Idunn and Freya, how Idunn had helped Freya escape the Aesir to reunite with her people. If this was true than that meant Idunn knew much of _seiðr_ , especially since Loki was sure that Frigga wielded it as well, meaning that Idunn had spent her entire life close to the two strongest practitioners.

He could ask her more about it, though he wouldn't reveal his intentions to her, it was clear that although Idunn had played a neutral role throughout most of history, she was now fiercely loyal to the throne.

Perhaps he could even get closer to Frigga, play on her motherly tendencies, to get information out of her. Even if she wasn’t receptive, at the very least he would be free from his chambers, and he’d rather spend time with an enemy than in confinement.

All he had to do now was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said fuck my age system lmao (i’ll go back to previous chapters and adjust accordingly) anyway, what do y’all think about Loki’s first (in a while) interactions with the King and Queen?  
> also i’m excited to write Thor’s and Loki’s meeting so look forward to that probably in the next chapter


	5. Golden Cage

Loki pours hours over the book, so completely immersed that at times he would not notice Idunn had been in his room at all until he found food by his side. He devours its stories and lessons, committing them to memory, partially because some of it might come of use while he stayed in Asgard, mostly because it was the only form of entertainment he had enjoyed in a long while. When he had read the script a few times over, finally exhausting it of its content, he sat back on his haunches and smiled.

When Idunn came by for supper, Loki was full to the brim with questions, his excitement spilling over his lips. What about this and this! He would say. Idunn sat across from him, a fond smile on her face, and answered all of his questions dutifully.

"Is it true that you ride on the back of a great big bird in order to deliver the golden apples to the gods every century?"

His stew was growing cold; he had forgotten it in his eagerness.

Idunn gave him a tilted smile. "It is true. Perhaps, you will meet my friend one day."

Loki smiled, thinking it a nice idea, but in the back of his mind he thought, I hope not to be here long enough to see it.

"And of Freya? How you helped her escape the Aesir’s fire?"

Something in Idunn's face changed at the mention of the Goddess's name, something so infinitesimal and yet blaringly obvious to the boy.

"Aye," she said, though she could not hide the quiver in her voice.

Loki pulled the joy that sprung from him, closer, herding it so as to not cause that expression to cross his friend's face again.

"Were you close?" He ventured carefully.

Idunn gave pause, staring at her wine as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. When she spoke again, she had lost the quiver in her voice, but it was still small; it did not suit her well.

"Aye," she said. "As close as two could be." A sweet pained smile twisted at her lips.

Loki left it at that, not wanting to further upset the Goddess. Idunn had always been steady in his wavering moods, calm when he was furious, loving when he was grieving. He supposed it was his turn to return the sentiment.

"How about we retire to the balcony?" He proposed. "The weather seems fine today."

Idunn's usual smile returned to her face. She knew what Loki was doing; as if he would ever describe Asgardian weather as fine.

"That's a lovely idea, my Prince."

Loki flushed under her attention. She never failed to remind him of his stature, of his origin, because she knew how much it meant to him. He loved her for it.

 

* * *

 

 

At night came a soft knock at his chamber doors, rousing him from his slumber. When he sat in bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes, the door creaked open. A round, white face popped through, and in a second, Idunn had slipped inside.

Though he was always glad to see her, he began to worry about why she came. It was even earlier in the night than when she had prepared him to meet the King and Queen.

"Oh, good," she said in a hushed voice. "You're awake."

She beckoned him out of bed, a giddy expression on her face he had never seen before. She took his hand in hers and ordered him to put on his boots. When he had finished lacing them, he looked at her curiously.

“Where are we going?"

Idunn's eyes gleamed in the moonlight, a look of true mischief across her face; Loki thought it suited her well. "I thought, it is such a beautiful night, I should take a stroll in the gardens. And then I thought, who better to accompany me than you."

Loki's face gave way to excitement. "Truly? And the King and Queen permit it?"

Idunn smiled impishly. "It would be such a shame to wake them for such a thing? Don't you agree?"

Loki nodded, following her closely out the door. Noticing the empty hall he asked, "Where are the guards?"

Idunn spoke even softer than before. "I tempted them with fruit and wine, and released them from their duties until morn."

The halls of the palace differed in the darkness, with only the moon and torches to keep it alit. The ceilings were somehow taller, and long shadows were cast on the walls. When they reached the outside and he felt the cool wind of the night's air against his skin, he could not help but giggle with fervor.

He turned to Idunn, spinning in a light circle. "Goddess you are most gracious."

Idunn collected her dress in hand and bent the knee before the other.

"Now shall we?" she said.

Loki followed close behind her, marveling at the copious flora and creatures that fluttered in the air. When she stopped, he had not realized how far they had walked. Turning back to see the palace, he could pin it beneath his thumb.

The white trees seemed to glow in the moonlight, giving way to meandering paths of blue petals and tall blades of green. He wanted to touch everything, to brush his hand against every passing tree, to remember it all. They settled beneath a great big sycamore, leaning against the slope of its wide trunk.

"Idunn, why have you brought me here tonight?"

She considered him for a moment. "You merited it, Loki. It is dreadful how the Aesir have treated you, and you must believe me when I say I will see that it changes."

Tears sprung to his eyes and he did not think twice before throwing himself into her arms. She accepted him tenderly, passing a hand over his head and hushing his quiet sob.

Women were so foreign to him. They were soft and plump where men were not, their hearts dotting and warm; yet, he feared them more than he did any man. Loki had never felt comfort like this; he had never had a mother or sister. There were no such things in Jotunheim. He supposed it wasn't too different from what he felt now.

He pushed away from her and wiped at his cheeks, laughing sweetly. "I do not deserve you," he admitted.

Idunn gave him a scornful look, though there was no true malice behind it. "Do not speak such mindless things. You are a dear friend to me."

Loki sat straight in her affection, like a flower straining for the sun's attention.

"And you will find others here, as well," she promised. "Believe me."

He wanted to, but he could not bring himself to trust such falsity. He did not say this to her, however, only turned his gaze to the bright blue moon.

"Is this the garden that sprouts the golden apples?" he asks instead.

Idunn brought her head to the white bark of the tree and looked up to gaze at its wondrous expanse of branches that veined across the dark sky. "It is. Though, anywhere I travel they will grow in my presence."

It was said that Idunn was birthed from the tree of life in Vanaheim, and when she had stepped from its hollow trunk, it withered out of existence. Where she stepped, flowers of azure would spring out of the loam, and where she waved her hand grew enormous trees of white and gold. From it came her apples, food for the Gods that kept them youthful and immortal.

"Have you heard what happens when a mortal tries to pick one of my apples in their greed?"

Loki shook his head.

"The light is too much for them to bear, and they are consumed entirely until they are only a ball of radiance. They pass and join the others above," she says, pointing to the sky.

Loki's eyes widen, remembering the apples he had been fed upon his arrival.

Idunn seems to know what passes through his mind. "They do not affect us in the same way. Our bodies are made to receive the light."

"Ours?" he questions.

"The Gods," she replies simply, as if it were clear.

"I am not a God," Loki protested. "I am Jotunn, we are giants, and though we come from Ymir, the first, we are simply another race, like dwarves and elves. We are not Gods."

Idunn looks at him knowingly. "Giants might not be, but you have never been quite a giant have you?"

Loki flushes under the accusation, shameful for his abnormalities.

"You are not just a Jotunn prince, my boy. You were born different from your kind, unalike anyone else, with gifts unheard of, when it should have been impossible to be so. That is not mere coincidence, that is the Fates at their work, and once you're reunited with your _seiðr_ , I am certain you'll grow into the man you are meant to be. How could you not be a God?"

His breath catches in his throat, and he wants to refute it, because it is too much to bear.

"You think these will be removed? That I will have my magic once again?" he asks, holding up his wrists to brandish the black runes that marred his skin. It is somehow easier to speak of this than of immortality.

“I don't believe there's anything in this world that will keep you from it for very long," she says.

Loki feels his skin prickle with anticipation. If what she said came to be true, then perhaps he was correct in his assumption that he would have to grow closer to Frigga.

“Besides you would have had a similar fate as those mortals if you weren’t divine,” she adds, playfully.

Loki is silent after this, thinking, his hand weaving absently through the grass.

It comes as a surprise when she speaks again, Loki had grown accustomed to their comfortable silences.

“This may not come as comfort, and I would not hold it against you if you harbored ill feelings towards me, but I am truly sorry,” she says in a gentle voice.

He looks up at her, puzzled. "What for?"

Her face crumbles with guilt. "I know that you must think I am useless, given all these powers and authority, and yet, I cannot set you free."

Loki draws his knees close, curling inward. If she knew this, he wondered if she also knew that he had wished her dead. Still, she sat next to him, apologizing, her winsome smile gone.

"The balances between the Vanir and Aesir are so fickle and tenuous, and I am meant to keep them afloat," she explains. "And for that, I am sorry."

"It's okay," he whispers. Because it is. He knows all of this and he does not scorn her for it, because he knows that even though she danced around the palace grounds and laughed freely with the Aesir, she was still just as much a prisoner as he was.

A golden cage is still a cage.

He does not want her to end up like Freya; he is not sure if she would survive like she had. So it is okay if he's in a golden cage. At least he has good company.

 

* * *

 

It comes sooner than he expects—the invitation. The following morning the message is delivered to him by one of the maids. He recognizes her as the one from before, who hadn't dare meet his eyes. Though now he sees her meekness for what it was; she had not been afraid of him because he is Jotunn—he knew now that few people in the kingdom know of his true origin—only that he was a prince that Odin had taken in.

She still cannot meet his eyes, and he does not mind. It reminds him of the servants at home.

"The Queen has requested your presence, Prince Loki," she squeaks. By the time Loki has acknowledged her message she is already out the door.

He was not as fearful as he had been when he meets the Queen again. Knowing now her history, she seemed less threatening. Not that he underestimated her power; he could feel it roll off her in waves. But the energy that clung to her was not threatening as he had once perceived it to be. It was simply present.

He is more assured, sitting across from her now. They are more similar than anyone he knew, he thinks. Even though he was Jotunn and she was Aesir, they were both wielders of _seiðr_ , and for that they were alike. He could learn a lot from her, he decided. He just can't get too close.

They speak courteously, exchange a few stories, though they mostly sat in silence and read. Occasionally, Frigga would laugh at a passage she read and would pass it over to Loki to see.

Once supper rolled around, Loki would be dismissed, and he would join Idunn for dinner, able to finally relax and speak freely.

And then he received another invitation. Then another and another, until he spent most of his mornings with the Goddess. He had grown used to her presence, though never comfortable. The runes on his wrists were never out of sight when he turned a page, and always reminded him of his place.

On his sixth visit, he arrives to her room only to be quickly leave it. When he asks her where they were going, hoping perhaps they would go outside, she turns and her mouth twists into a smile.

"Did you not want to see the library?"

And it is almost better than being in the gardens. It is larger than he expected, huge in its grandeur, putting Loki's own collection in Jotunheim to shame. He feels like he could get lost in it, in between pages of literature and the words of poets.

He always guarded his emotions when he was around Frigga, keeping them close and rarely letting them slip. But now, standing here, he couldn't help the grin that overtook his face.

"Well," Frigga says. "Is it to your liking?"

Loki beams at her, feeling for once grateful towards the Goddess. "It's beautiful!"

An odd expression crosses Frigga's face, disarmed by Loki's warmth. She recovers a moment later and begins to show him around.

His favorite mornings were spent in the library, and better days when Idunn and him would sneak out at night to the gardens.

He had once shared his concern with the Goddess of Immortality, worried now that he spent so much time with Frigga that she would find out about their escapades. She had laughed at him, saying that the Queen already knew. She might have not told her directly, but the Queen was wiser than Loki assumed, and if she had an issue with their nightly walks, she would have ended them immediately.

Loki thought about it often. He deliberated on his new found freedoms, and presumed that he was trusted more than he had ever been since coming to Asgard. He supposed that was how he had wanted it, planned it to be.

It was hard to remember his plans of escape nowadays. They faded in and out, got caught on the edges of pages and sweet words.

They’re sitting in the library, content in their silence as they read when Frigga asks him.

Loki pulls a face and waits for laughter to follow her words, expecting this to end as a joke. But when he looks at her he realizes she was not jesting.

“Would you accompany me to supper?” He rolls the words around his head, trying to grasp its hidden context.

“Why?” He asks, suspicion lacing his tone.

“I think you ought to meet everybody, formally. You are after all my ward and I intend to treat you as such,” she puts simply and Loki wonders how she could say such things so easily.

He is nervous beyond nervous. He paces so many times across his room that Idunn teases him that he'll run a dent in the flooring. She tries to reassure him. That she will be there, sitting next to him. That it will be over quickly.

Thor will be there, he thinks.

And his stomach works itself into knots once again. He is not sure why he is most anxious to meet the Prince, he does not dwell on it further.

He is changed into the attire he had worn when meeting Odin, his hair is slicked back, tucked behind his ears. Before he can quell the creatures that stirred in his chest, he is being led out of the room by Idunn.

She passes a gentle hand over his shoulders. "You look dashing."

His eyes dart to the Goddess, noting that her usual white gown had been replaced by an ornate olive one; she had wanted to match with him, she had explained. "And you look stunning as ever, Goddess."

She scrunches her nose at that.

"Do you always dress up for supper with the royals?"

Idunn shakes her head and leads him down a spiraling set of stairs. "No, this is a special occasion!"

"What's the occasion?" he asks, frowning.

She looks at him with a wonderful expression of glee. "You are, little Prince!"

He feels heat rise high to his cheeks and looks away from her. The knots in his stomach were pulled tighter. Stopping at the end of the stairwell, he places a hand against the banister to stabilize himself. A fluttering panic rose within him; it was all too much, this sudden freedom and welcoming. He hated it. He wanted to return to his chambers and crawl into bed until the sun rose.

Idunn stops as well, and lowers herself to be at his level. She places a cool hand against his cheek, and it pulls him out of the depths, and when he resurfaces he is left feeling silly. He had not meant to cause a scene, even if it was only the two of them and a few guards that tailed behind.

"It will be fine," she cooes. "You will be wonderful, just you see. They will love you, I am sure of it."

"How can you know?"

"Because I do," she answers evenly.

Loki scoffs amused and pushes against her shoulder. "You are an embarrassment."

Idunn grinned and rose again. "Of the best kind!"

He feels better, though not completely unscathed. Enough so, to make his way down the final halls. When they enter the dining hall, he did not realize how close he had pressed himself to Idunn's side. He removes himself before anyone had noticed their presence. I am a Prince, he reminds himself, act like one.

The hall is alive with chatter, full, and he wonders if the entire kingdom had been invited. There several rows of tables where the nobles sat, waiting impatiently to start their meals. At the front, is the largest table where the royals sat.

"Loki! Idunn!"

Loki looks for the direction of the voice to find Frigga sitting at the end of the main table. She beckons them over, to sit at the two empty seats. "Come join us."

He settles in quickly and tries to keep his gaze on the vast expanse of food in front of them; it was enough to feed his father's army, and his mouth began to salivate. When he looks up intending to speak to the Queen, his gaze catches someone else. He feels himself still, having the Golden Prince staring at him with such intent. Thor is practically vibrating in his seat in his eagerness, and he smiles at Loki coyly, but parts their exchange to look up at his mother instead.

Frigga has risen from her chair, a chalice in her hand.

"Thank you for the invitation, Your Majesty," Loki says curtly, remembering what Idunn had told him.

Frigga nods at him graciously, and rises her cup into the air, and with a simple action the entire hall is silent. Such is the power of a Queen.

"My lords and ladies, I, and on behalf of my husband Odin, thank you dearly for attending this most splendid occasion," she begins.

Noticing the King’s absence, Loki glances at Idunn in question and she gives him a look that says she will explain later.

"I would like to take this opportunity to welcome our newest addition to the court, Prince Loki."

At this, the entire halls erupts in applause, and it startles Loki; he can feel his face start to burn under the attention.

"Due to difficult circumstances and tumultuous foreign affairs, he will be staying here in Asgard until he comes of age."

His stomach sinks a thousand miles below the depths of the sea.

"I anticipate that you and the good people will welcome him with open arms and treat him as one of our own."

With that, she takes her seat and a thunderous roar of cheers spreads throughout the dining hall, Loki's name on the lips of every person in the room. He nearly doesn't hear it over the rush of blood in his ears.

Idunn places her hand over his for a moment and catches his eyes, breaking him from his trance. He smiles politely at her and then raises his cup to the Queen and the others around him. He craved desperately to crawl out of his skin, to retire, to flee; but he was a Prince, so he stayed put and exchanged vague pleasantries over an evening that seemed to stretch impossibly long.  

He thinks this is how a fisherman must feel caught in a storm; what a soldier must feel like when they see the tide of an oncoming army, and know that he will die. It felt like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i knoooww i said thor and loki would properly meet this ch but the scene didnt really fit in with the rest so i decided to hold it back for the following ch


	6. Foreigner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i actually had this chapter written for a while, but i needed to take some time to focus on my health. i am doing a lot better now and hopefully will start writing more since i have a lot of works i want to finish asides from ATAG

"I heard you were here." A clear voice, like ice frosted over leaves. 

Loki's head jerked up. He was in the hall, adjacent to the dining room, sitting on the ledge of a stone window. He had expected to be taken straight to his room after the meal had concluded, but when he had turned to Idunn she had just patted his head, saying, " _Honestly, Loki, I have other things to attend to."_ When this was met with confusion she continued to say, _"You do not need me to govern your actions, you are a Prince of the court. You are free to roam as you like, as long as you are in bed before bedtime."_ Then she had given him a sweet kiss on the head, and vanished around a corner.

He had wished she had stayed; he did not know what to do alone with unbounded freedom. Loki settled for watching the sun dip below the horizon, and hoping to push his luck he had climbed onto the window, thinking surely that one of the guards would yell at him. The yells never came. He was filled with disappointment. 

It was now much past his curfew, the sun already swallowed by the earth. Still no one came.

It was Thor, standing next to him. His face was serious, the blue of his eyes steady as he regarded Loki, though there was the ever gleam of excitement as well. 

"I have been looking for you," he said. His words carried no hint of anything Loki could read.

Loki turned away from him, imagined jumping off the ledge, wondering what sound it would make when he met the ground. 

"You left so quickly after supper, like a mouse."

His face went red. Behind the pools of his melancholy, anger rose slow and dull. It was not his right to chastise Loki, he was not one of his little noble friends. 

"Does it matter what I do?" Loki spat at the air. "Or am I meant to be put in exile once again?"

Thor looked stricken by this, guilty. "No, Mother noticed your absence and was worried. "

"And she sent you." He wanted to make Thor feel ugly for his tale-bearing.

"No, I came on my own." Thor's voice was cool, but Loki saw his jaw tighten, just a little. "I overheard her speak to Idunn. I have come to see if you are ill."

Loki did not answer. Thor studied him for a moment. 

"You are not ill," he said.

"No," Loki answered dully.

"It is past our bedtime," Thor added.

Loki leaned back to get a better look at him and leered at him from the side of his eye. "Are you going to tell Frigga of this as well?"

Thor's eyes widened for a moment before they narrowed playfully. "I won't tell if you don't."

"I am not stupid," Loki replied. "I don't yearn to be whipped."

Thor regarded him with a dangerous look, scared even, as if he was wondering, what kind of Kingdom do you come from where they whip their princes? Loki rolled his eyes at the boy's daftness; he did not understand that Loki had meant Frigga or Odin would punish him. Princes were not whipped, but he was no longer a Prince, no matter how much the Aesir loved their lies. It dawned on Loki that if Thor did not know of his heritage, then he must be unaware of how he had been treated thus far. 

How bliss it must be to be ignorant of the cruelty of one's parents. To only see them in golden light, in their kindness and mercy, to never see the bloodsoaked fields of pillaged villages or watch heads roll off the shoulders of war prisoners. 

Laufey had always been clear what it meant to be a King. The costs one must pay in order to keep their throne. Loki had never been shielded from such things; he knew death like he knew how to walk, it was there in every step, ever lingering. He knew pain like he knew breathing; how it would rain upon him at the hands of his enraged brothers, how it felt to fall from an ice cliff and break the bones in his shins, how his chest had broken in half watching his father die before his eyes. 

"Perhaps, you could join me in my lyre lessons one day, if you would like," Thor ventured, trying his hand at friendship.

Loki descended from his perch and stood in front of Thor, and looked at him, really looked at him. His cheeks were full with a cheerfulness Loki could never hope to understand, his eyes brimming with something Loki did not recognize. This boy knew nothing of death and nothing of pain, and Loki hated him for it. He thought sadistically, maybe I could teach him.

"Perhaps," Loki replied, knowing he would never actually accept the offer. "For now, I am tired. Goodnight, Prince Thor."

He turned on his heel and walked away before Thor could respond. Loki bit his lip in his fury and did not notice when it began to bleed. 

 

* * *

 

He does not join Frigga the following morning for their usual meeting; he had not been invited to. It appeared that the Queen had other errands to attend to. 

He stayed in bed for longer than he usually would after waking up staring blankly at the ceiling, before rolling out and pulling on the tunic and trousers that had been laid out for him the night before. He ambled around for a bit, taking unnecessarily slow steps before reaching the chamber doors. Testing it, he pulled on the handles and was surprised when they gave out and opened. Nervously, he peeked his head out only to find that the guards posted outside were not stopping him. 

Loki eyed one of the men anxiously, and slipped out. He looked up and down the hall, trying to remember the passages he had gone through the night before, but the place was so big, he quickly felt lost. 

He perked at the sound of voices and when he rounded a corner, he saw Idunn speaking with a few maidens. She caught his gaze shortly after and excused herself. 

“Little Prince!” She glided towards him. 

The warmth from her smile ebbed at the knots of anxiety in his stomach, and he felt himself sighing in relief. 

“Idunn,” he acknowledged. 

“Have you broken fast?”

When he shook his head, she guided him out the hall. 

“Would you like to join me in royal gardens? I can have one of the girls bring you food.”

Loki nodded numbly, fingers fretting with the hem of his tunic as they walked. 

“I apologize for leaving you so suddenly last night, I had to speak to Baldr about something,” she said suddenly. “I thought you might like some time alone, but I failed to realize that this must be overwhelming for you.”

“It is a bit,” Loki admitted, chewing his lip. 

Loki had passed through the royal gardens several times, but that had been at night when they were traveling to Idunn’s fields. Now they were bustling with maidens and noble couples. It made his stomach sick. 

They sat at one of the farther tables, near the palace but away from the center of the garden where most people walked. He was grateful that she had picked a spot in the shade; he was already prickling with sweat from the heat. Idunn whispered to a servant girl and waved her off. 

“So, how does it feel now that you’re officially a prince of the court?” She asked, a happy smile on her face. 

He regarded her thoughtfully. He supposed that this is what she had meant when she said things would change; she wanted him to be glad for it. While Loki had already come to the conclusion that they were both trapped in a golden cage, he had not realized that Idunn might not be aware of this. To her this was good, in her eyes Loki had been given the freedom he had desired, and what prisoner would not jump with joy at such liberation? 

He tried to smile and convey some sense of gratitude. “It is good. I am not sure what to do with myself.”

Idunn beamed at him. “We can have you start lessons. Would you like that?”

Loki struggled to keep the smile on his face, but he supposed that lessons would at least give him something to do. “That would be nice.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I will speak with the Queen about it.”

“I was meaning to ask you,” he ventured, “Why did the King not join us last night?”

Idunn paused, setting down her cup. “The Allfather has entered Odinsleep.”

Loki frowned. “Odinsleep?”

“Yes. It is when the Allfather enters a state of rest to recharge. Though it does not prevent him from overseeing the universe,” Idunn explained. 

Loki leaned into his chair, mulling over the information. “Does this happen often?”

Idunn shook her head. “No. We are usually prepared for it, but it seems that the King was overtaken by recent stressors.”

She’s talking about me, Loki thought. 

“How long does it last?”

Idunn’s jaw tightened slightly; it was clear the conversation was making her uncomfortable, but Loki did not know why. 

“We do not know, that is up to the Allfather. It can last centuries,” she said slowly. 

Loki’s eyes widened and he tried to keep his emotions in check. If this was true, then it meant Loki would have a lot of time out from under Odin’s thumb. It would make things run smoother, he just had to remember his plan. He pushed away the thoughts, looking out into the garden. He did not want Idunn to see how excited the revelation had made him. 

Their food arrived then. He parted the bread with his fingers, idly shoving it in his mouth, though he didn’t feel particularly hungry. It felt like a storm was stirring in his stomach since last night. 

He flinched easily, every passing person made him uneasy. He was still not used to being around so many people, and he had to remind himself that none of these people meant to physically harm him. They did not engage with them, though several people waved and greeted Idunn, they kept their distance and spoke in hushed whispers. Loki’s skin itched, feeling their curious eyes on him. 

“That is him?” He would hear, and, “He is young,” and, “Do you know where he comes from?” Worst was when he caught words like, “Foreigner.” 

When they retired, the cool air in the palace did little to soothe him. People still gawked at him, eyes wandering. He supposed he would just have to get used to it. 

 

* * *

 

The days passed slowly. His limbs felt perpetually heavy and the air was thick with humidity that made each breath feel like molasses. It was hard to keep his attention on anyone or anything, he felt himself constantly slipping in and out of conversation. 

His monotonous routine was broken, however, when he was invited to another dinner. Though this one would not be a feast, he had been informed. Only one between the royal family, Idunn, and him. 

He thought he should feel nervous, but even that was hard to summon. He sat at the last empty seat, as far away from Frigga and Thor as possible, his shoulders tensed as if ready for a fight. Across the table Thor and his brother postured and prattled about a spear and a hawk that had died in the courtyard and the spring races. Loki did not hear them. 

Thor’s presence was like a rock in his shoe, impossible to ignore. His skin was the color of just-pressed olive oil, smooth and polished, without the scabs and blemishes that covered most children their age. 

Dinner finished, and the plates were cleared. A harvest moon, full and orange, hung beyond the dining room’s windows. Frigga, a woman named Nanna, and a few cousins left. Yet Thor lingered. Absently, he pushed the hair from his face; it had grown longer in the weeks since Loki had last spoken to him. Thor reached for a bowl on the table that held figs and gathered several in his hands. 

With a toss, he flicked them into the air, one, two, three, juggling them lightly. He added a fourth, then a fifth, and Idunn and Baldr hooted and clapped. 

The fruits flew, their colors blurring, mesmerizing Loki. Juggling was a trick of beggars and jesters, but he made it something else, an art, something so beautiful even Loki could not feign disinterest. 

His gaze which had been following the fruit, flickered to Loki’s. He did not have time to look away before Thor said, “Catch.”

A fig leapt from the graceful pattern and towards him. It fell into the cup of his palms. Thor tossed one to Idunn and then one to his brother, and then one by one caught the rest in his hands. 

Idunn and Baldr bit into theirs without a thought, but Loki carefully placed his onto the table. He loved figs, had them at every dinner once. But it came from Thor and his stomach rejected it. 

He departs quickly after that with the excuse that he was growing tired. He does not miss the disappointment that crosses Thor’s face, but he does not turn again as he leaves. 

 

* * *

 

Things began to fall into accord with a certain regimen, though never easy. Each day felt longer and each meal felt like glass being shoved in his mouth. 

He had started lessons of language and grammar. Though most of the Aesir spoke in Allspeak, most of Asgard spoke in their own language and dialects and Loki was quickly starting to learn them. It differed greatly from what they spoke in Jotunheim, but he had already learned most of it when he was younger from books. 

He continues to meet Frigga in the library, and his reluctance starts to weign. She is kind, motherly. She begins to teach him the different sections and categories that come with magic, how to draw energy from the world around you, its history. Though she never gives promise of giving his back. 

Things are going according to his plan, he just wishes it would happen quicker. He aches to feel snow beneath his feet. He even missed his brothers, though they surely would not miss him. If they were alive. 

He wonders if they had searched for him, for his body, or had simply been relieved to take the throne. He spends many days dreaming about Jotunheim, how it has been rebuilt, how it will be when he returns. 

He is alone less and less for dinners, and has become better at contributing to their conversations. He learns that Nanna, a woman with light brown hair and a long thin face, was betrothed to Baldr. They will marry in a few summers. They rarely speak though, she is quiet and Baldr seems more at ease speaking with Idunn. 

Thor is immersed in an argument with Idunn now. He claims that she had enchanted all the animals in her gardens to flee from him, while she says that he is too clumsy and brutish and simply scares them off. 

It was so absurd, Loki could not help but follow it. 

“Impossible! Even when I am quiet and still, they do not come,” Thor groans dramatically. 

“I don’t think you have ever been quiet and still since you were born,” Badlr teases. 

Thor gave him a look of betrayal and punched his brothers arm. Loki shook with mirth, amused at how they bickered. Thor’s eyes caught him then and Loki placed an embarrassed hand over his mouth, trying to stop the laughter from bubbling over his lips. Thor stills and he looks wonderfully shocked, reddening by the second. Even Frigga is laughing a bit. 

Loki feels himself smiling, and caught up in the moment of it all, he forgets to stop.  

 

* * *

 

That night he dreamt of his father, his skull cracked like an egg against the ice. The blood spreads, thick and dark as spilled wine. His eyes open, and his mouth begins to move. Loki struggles to understand, he cannot read his lips, and he cups his hands behind his ears. He cannot decipher the screams, but somehow he knows that his father’s anger, fury, is aimed at him. Loki clasps his hands over his ears. Suddenly he wishes nothing more than for silence. He is not a fool, he knows that he voices of the dead are said to drive the living mad. _I must not hear him speak._

He wakes in terror, hoping he had not screamed aloud in his slumber. His breathing was harsh in the silence, and the mattress crackled softly beneath him. 

The stars turned, and somewhere the moon crept across the sky. When his eyes dragged closed again, his father was waiting for him still, covered in blood. Of course he was. 

When he wakes again he is sandy-eyed, his limbs heavy and dull. The maids surged around him, collecting the linens, eager for the day. Word had spread quickly to Idunn of his strangeness, and the Goddess approached him carefully. When it was time to break fast, Loki could not speak, his fingers pushed bread between his lips, and his throat swallowed. Milk was poured for him. He drank it. 

After an hour of silence, Loki finally spoke, voice hoarse. “Is it true that the dead come to seek vengeance against the living?”

Idunn looks up from her book, perturbed. “Is there someone you’re thinking of in particular?”

The young Jotunn lifts his head to look at her and a chill runs down her spine when his gaze goes through her. 

“My father,” he spoke softly. 

Loki can feel the pity in her gaze and it turns his stomach sour. 

“I’m sure there is no reason why Laufey would want to seek vengeance against his son,” Idunn says gently. 

Loki scoffs, cynically. “He knows.”

Idunn pauses cautiously. “What does he know?”

His eyes burn, swollen from the tears he shed in his sleep. His tongue is heavy in his mouth when he whispers: “That I’ve betrayed him.”

  


When Idunn returns to his room at noon, she comes insisting to get him outside with the other children. She leads him into the dusty sun of the practice fields for training. Idunn ushers him amongst the other children where they were listening to the masters lecture. A few of them eyed him from where they thought he could not see, but none approached him. 

He was given a spear, and a calloused hand corrected his grip, then corrected it again. Loki threw and grazed the edge of the tree target. The master blew out a disappointed breath and handed him another spear. Loki’s eyes traveled over the other children, searching for Odin’s son. He was not there. He sighted once more at the tree, its bark pitted and cracked, oozing sap from its punctures. He threw. 

The sun drove high, and then higher still. His throat grew dry and hot, scratched with burning dust. When the masters released them, most of the boys and girls fled to the courtyard. There they played and raced, shouting jokes in their slanted Asgardian dialects. 

His eyes were heavy in his head, and his arm ached from the morning’s practice. He sat beneath the shade of an olive tree nestled high on a hill, to stare out over the bustling city. No one spoke to him. He was easy to ignore. It was not so very different from home, really. 


	7. Solatia

The next day and the days after that were the same, a morning of wearing exercises, and then long afternoons alone. Sometimes he would see Frigga, sometimes he would see Idunn, sometimes he would even see the Prince. At night, the moon slivered smaller and smaller. He stared at it until he could see it even with his eyes closed, the blue curve bright against the dark of his eyelids. He hoped that it might keep the visions of his father at bay.

It did not. His father came, night after night, with his staring eyes and splintered skull. Sometimes he turned and showed Loki the hole at the crown of his head, where the soft matter of his brain hung loose. Sometimes he reached for Loki. He would wake, choking on his horror, and stare at the darkness until dawn. 

 

* * *

 

The sun drove high and then higher, and Loki wondered if it could ever reach a height before it plummeted. He wonders what it would be like, if only for a moment, to join the sun, like the birds did. It would be such a great fall, he thought. He wondered if his skin would sizzle like it did now, if it would burn and then melt off him.

He wanted to see the moon. Not Asgard’s moon, but the one he grew up with. The moon here was so small, so pathetic, barely luminous, always consumed by its better half. And it was no competition, was it? How could one stand next to someone who shone so brightly and not be crippled by it. 

His mouth soured and he pushed the food on his plate around with his fork. 

Today Thor sat closer to him, across from him to be exact, he had grown quite bold. The Prince’s feet scuffed against the flagstones as he ate. Loki hated the sound. He hated that Thor was this close to him; it was like being next to the sun, he could feel his skin itching in his presence. He hated him. 

Thor turned, as if he had heard Loki. For a second their eyes held, and he felt a shock pulse through him. Loki jerked his gaze away, and busied himself with his bread. His cheeks were hot, prickled from his gaze. And yet he wanted to look up again. He was not able to force his head up for the rest of dinner. 

Idunn had noticed his odd behavior, had put her hand to his back. She invited him to her gardens that night; it was meant as comfort. It had always worked before, but sitting in the blue light, he felt as if he was worlds away from her. From everyone, from everything. 

When his gaze flickered, he would see him, his father. When the wind brushed against him, he shivered and tensed, expecting a hand to grab him. Who’s? He did not know, maybe his brothers,  maybe his father. It was like he was not here or at home. It was like he was nowhere. 

 

 

 

At dinners, he kept his ears open. He would keep his eyes low and listen to the things that left the Queen’s mouth or Baldr’s or Nanna’s. How the harvest would be this time of year, how Baldr’s soldiers are trained, how a bird had flown into the kitchen and caused a ruckus. They spoke of Asgard and Vanaheim, and wars and treaties. They never spoke of Jotunheim. Sometimes Odin’s name would slip into conversation. Sometimes they spoke of nothing at all. 

With Thor it was harder. He had insisted on continuing to sit in front of Loki, though Thor seldom attempted at conversation, because Loki would seldom participate. He became craftier in his observation, kept his head down and his eyes ready to leap away. But Thor was craftier still. At least once a dinner he would turn and catch Loki before he could feign indifference. Those seconds, half seconds, that the line of their gaze connected, were the only moments in his days that Loki felt anything at all. The sudden swoop of his stomach, the coursing anger. He was like a fish eyeing the hook.

 

* * *

 

During training, the soldier grew short with him. Why can’t you hold it right? he would say, and would correct Loki’s grip. 

Loki wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted to turn and stab the head of the spear into the man’s gut. At home, they did not fight with wooden spears. Wood cracked and splintered when it came into contact with a Jotunn’s ice. A thought flickered and caught flame in his mind. 

He turned to the soldier and demanded evenly, “Give me knives then.”

The man looked at him like he had lost his head. “I cannot do that, Prince Loki.”

Loki felt his temper rise, felt it swirl in his head like thick smoke. “You say I cannot throw a spear and you say I cannot swing a sword, so give me a blade.”

The man’s jaw clenched. Loki could see his hands curl into fists, as if he was stopping himself from striking the boy. He did with other children, but he could not with Loki. 

“We do not permit children to use real weapons, not until they are ready. When you are ready you will be trained by a master. Only then will you hold a real blade.”

Loki was not the Prince of Asgard, but he was still a Prince, and still had sway over those beneath him.

“Then take me to one,” he ordered. 

 

 

 

The man turned, his narrow shoulders swiveling, and Loki caught sight of his cropped brown hair and the golden clasp around his cloak. Loki stared at the man before him and something rose from his stomach. Baldr greeted the soldier and he glanced at Loki, but it was for only a moment so Loki could not discern anything from his expression. The soldier stepped aside as Baldr dismissed him and the others in the room. When he turned to look at Loki, he regarded him, because he had never looked at the boy since the day he had captured him. He saw guilt in those piercing blue eyes; his only similarity to his kid brother. It was not akin to the guilt Loki saw in the other Aesir or even Idunn's, it was not pity, it was a personal guilt. 

"Prince Loki," he greeted him with a curt nod.

Loki did the same. "Lord Baldr."

"Walk with me," Baldr motioned to his side and began to leave the courtyard. They dipped under the shade of an outside hall and Loki was grateful to be out from under the sun's scolding heat.

"You have been giving the trainers much trouble, I have heard."

Loki's lip curled in a small sneer. "Those men are daft in their authority. They only know one way to fight, and my people do not fight like that."

Baldr nodded in understanding and Loki felt a sense of ease pass over him; he could rarely speak of being Jotunn, but Baldr knew well of where the boy came from. 

"Are you able to create ice shards?" He asks, curiously.

Loki flinched. Ice shards were a natural weapon Jotunns’ could conjure from their skin to protect themselves. 

Loki shook his head bitterly. "No. Even if I could, I would not be able to do so in this form," he gestured to his body in disgust.

He could feel the sharpness from Baldr's gaze, the side of his face tingles from it. 

"Perhaps, you could mimic it. Have you tried?"

Loki's brows knit in the center of his forehead. The man was referring to his magic, even though he knew it had been stolen from him. For a moment he considered that like Idunn, Baldr anticipated the return of Loki's powers. He was, after all, known for his premonitions. 

"No," he lies. He had tried many times as a child, attempting any way to pass off as a true Jotunn, but he did not want Baldr to think him weak. 

Baldr hums. "Well, I can teach you how to fight with weapons as most men do."

Loki's head jolts up. "You will?"

Baldr nods and their is a playful lilt to his voice when he speaks. "You have already expressed your…dissatisfaction with the methods of my men. I am sure you will feel the same with the masters.”

“And you will be better?” Loki asks in disbelief. 

Baldr smiled easily. “Who do you think trained our men?” 

 

 

 

 

"Why knives?"

Loki looked up from his spot. "They're light and you can use them for long distance if you throw them well enough. Plus people don't expect it."

Baldr contemplated his words. "You've thought about this quite a bit." 

"Not really," Loki answered honestly. "I just didn't want to throw a spear anymore. It hurts my arms." 

Baldr laughed gently at that and turned his back. He busied himself by looking through the armory until he found a pair of steel blades. He showed them to Loki and then in a quick movement flipped them in the air so that the gilded handles faced the boy.

"You'll have to teach me that," Loki said excitedly. 

Baldr smiles at his enthusiasm and hands him the blades. " Eventually. For now we will focus on throwing and hand to hand combat."

He leads Loki to a secluded area west of the courtyard, where the field gave way to trees. When Loki asks him why they are so far from the training grounds, Baldr says, "I thought you might want to be out of the sun."

Loki blinks away the confusion he feels settled in his head. He is not sure how he feels about Baldr’s consideration, it felt genuine but he felt foolish to trust it. 

"We'll use these four trees as marks," Baldr motions with a pair of knives he had grabbed for himself. "There are three types of knives for throwing: blade-heavy, handle-heavy, and balanced knives. I gave you a pair of balanced ones since they are easiest to learn with."

Loki stands straight in attention, his eyes never leaving Baldr. 

"What is your dominant hand?" Baldr asks.

Loki thinks for a moment. "Neither. I have always used both to write."

Baldr takes this into consideration. "Start with whatever you feel most comfortable. First, your grip is paramount to how your knife will release. Too much grip will hamper your release, whereas too little might cause the knife to fly out of your hand prematurely, potentially hurting someone."

Loki assessed the knives in his hands, felt the weight, the edges of their handles, the sharpness of their blades. 

"There's two ways to throw. By handle or by blade. Now angle the blade," Baldr instructed.

His right hand rose, sighted the tree. 

"A knife held by its handle will need to turn over at least once in the air to land point-first, whereas a knife held by its point will need to turn over at least one and a half times. I want you to throw to the tree to your left, its close range."

Loki felt Baldr's presence behind him.

"Bend your wrist back toward your forearm," Baldr tapped Loki's arm with the tip of a dagger. "This will allow the knife to turn over in the air more quickly, which is necessary because there is little distance between you and your target."

His breath was hot on his nape, and for a moment, Loki wanted to turn and stick the blade in Baldr's neck, watch it slide between the curve of muscle and his collarbone. 

"Throw."

Loki flung the blade, and felt the wind air beneath his lungs as he watched it fly from palm to tree. It struck, a resounding thwack, then fell.

Baldr made a sound of surprise and stepped closer to the tree to investigate the mark Loki's throw had left.

"I hit it," Loki said, dumbfounded. 

He felt the air enter his lungs, felt his cheeks fill with heat and his fingers prickled with vigor. 

Baldr picked up the knife from the grass, flashed him a smile, and said, "You did. Quite impressive."

Loki felt himself smile. "It didn't land though."

Baldr nodded. "We'll work on it."

  

* * *

 

The hesitance to speak during dinner did not leave, though now he was much more interested in observing a different Odinson. Baldr sat across from him, a seat away, between his brother and Frigga. He watched, noticed the way the man tensed every time the Queen spoke, how his eyes would wash over with a gloom when Nanna looked his way with a longing in her own. Frigga spoke to Idunn of something Loki did not know of, but he was often lost on the topic of women. He did notice how Baldr's gaze never left Idunn as she spoke, how his face would bloom when her attention turned to him, how Nanna's grip on her silverware tightened when he did so.

Loki was not the only one watching.

When his gaze came forward he caught Thor's stare, how it had flicked between him and Baldr. A curious confusion had settled in his face, replaced by something like irritation. It nearly made Loki smile, but he instead looked down at his plate. 

He heard Idunn laugh and he looked up, saw her bend in her mirth and knock over her cup. The red wine spilled, it's deep red spreading, seeping.

Loki felt his throat close and his heart trip in his chest. Where once was a plate of roasted meat was now the head of his father, his mouth agape, his head concave and the red spilled forth to touch him.

There was a scream, and Loki did not know it was his own until his body collided with the ground. The hall became silent. He looked up from the ground, his body overcome with a tremble. The head was gone. Everybody was looking at him.

"Loki," Idunn's voice is laced with concern. She moved to him, placing a hand on his side, but before she could touch him, his body gave a violent flinch. He pushed her away and his eyes met Thor's.

Those brilliant blue orbs held such a powerful tinge of fear. Loki turned away, nearly retching as he scrambled to his feet. He ran faster than he ever had. He ran but he could still hear the silent screams of his father echo through the golden halls. 

 

 

 

Idunn found him in the gardens. He had sprinted there, rushing past the people that lingered in the royal halls, past Frigga’s orchards. When he had reached the clearing, where Idunn’s trees grew, he had tripped from his speed, hurtling right into the ground. His knees and cheek scraped against the dirt, caught on the sharp endings of twigs and branches. Loki felt the blood fill his brain. He had clambered back up, and dashed off until he reached the last tree. 

When his hands collided against the bark, jolting him out of his run, he could not hold it back any longer. He felt it climb from his chest and out his mouth. He screamed until he felt tears spring to his eyes. 

That is where she found him.

He turned to her and felt his heart shatter. He falls into her embrace easily and she brings him to the ground, cradling his head in her lap, trying to soothe the agony that racked his body. A scream comes, tearing its way out. And then another, and another. He seizes his hair in his hands and yanks it from his head. He wants to beat the earth, to shout and demand that his father is given back to him. That he is taken instead.

Idunn holds him all the while. Holds him so tightly, she can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a moth. She cannot ease the pain he carries in his heart, and each fluttering reminds her of this. A torment that leaves them both reeling.

  

* * *

 

It is midday when someone finally comes to his chamber. They only knock and when Loki does not rise from his bed after the third knock they leave. He curls further into himself and lets the blanket smother him. Somewhere between afternoon and dusk, someone enters his room and leaves food by his side. He thinks its Idunn, but he does not move to confirm this. He is not even sure she had been there at all. It is harder to discern reality from dream under the cover of his blanket.

He is not sure when he fell asleep or for how long it had lasted. He does remember jolting into consciousness. The blankets had snaked around him and when he had sat upright, they constricted, like the body of a viper. He thrashed against them and sat in the dark room with only his harsh breathes for company. He tries to shake of the sensation of hands slithering up his body, but it never quite leaves him. 

His eyes are still open when the sun crept into the sky. He is awake when a faint knock echoes through the wood of his door. A small woman slips inside. She startles when she sees him on the ground, sitting against the side of his bed. He recognizes her. 

"Lord Baldr asked me to check in on you," she squeaks. Loki finds her voice grating. 

He stares evenly at her and hopes it will make her leave.

“He asks you meet him outside for your lessons," she tries to say firmly, though it doesn't suit her well.

"Tell him I won't be attending training today," his voice is barely recognizable to him.

Her face falls, as if a refusal had not occurred to her. "Oh, um, should I inform the Queen that you will not be going to your lessons for the rest of the day?"

He has grown tired of her; he cannot keep the irritation out of his voice when he speaks. "Do what you must."

 

 

 

When he answers the door at night he expects to see Idunn. No longer could he take the sound of knuckles rapping against his door; he felt like ripping it off its hinges. It is not Idunn.

 

"I thought you might be here."

There is a swooping feeling that disrupts his stomach. He feels cold all of a sudden, looking at someone who carried light in their every step.

"Do you need something?" Loki's hand tightens around the edge of the door. 

Thor smiles and tips closer, and Loki fears for a moment that he might hurtle straight into his room.

"My mother tells me that you skipped out on your lessons today," there is a teasing to his voice.

"Do you listen to everything your mother says?" Loki sneers.

Thor flushes, his brow pushing a curve into his forehead. "After last night...I thought you were ill," his voice softens with each word. 

Something rises in Loki's chest, though it is not anger. "How pleasant of you to check in on me," he cannot help the flatness that comes with his words. "I can assure you I'm fine. Please leave, I'd like to rest."

Loki can tell Thor is not used to dismissal, he looks bewildered, almost angry. But when Loki shuts the door, there is no protest that follows.

  

* * *

 

The next morning he reluctantly leaves the room. He had almost expected Idunn to drag him out by his ear, but she had only opened the curtains and left a sweet kiss atop his head. It does not come to him as a surprise when he passes the training ground and finds that Baldr is already there. He is sharpening two sets of knives. 

His lips turn up when he catches sight of Loki. 

"I'm glad you decided to join me, Prince Loki."

Loki gives a tired shrug of his shoulders. "What else would I do?"

Baldr's smile becomes tight. He twirls a blade between his fingers, it is almost nervous. "May I ask what frightened you the other night?"

Loki stares at him. "Sometimes I see it."

A look of confusion passes over the Aesir's expression. "See what?"

Loki feels his lips tip down. "My father's corpse."

Baldr's face becomes pained, and the twirling of his knife stops.

"Sometimes he comes in my sleep, sometimes when I'm awake. But I always see it, the blood," he says it because he wants to hurt him. He wants to drown Baldr in his guilt, see the life choke out of him. 

He cannot meet the boy's eyes, they are grounded to the metal in his hand. "Loki, I-"

The anger rose in him slow and dull. "Don't. I will cut your tongue out if you even try," Loki threatens.

Baldr's eyes turn down, shameful, but he regards Loki all the same. "You deserve an apology."

"I don't want to hear it," he says vehemently. "Show me how to fight, so I am weak no longer. That is how you will atone." 

Baldr straightens, and his face hardened behind a veil of solemn. "Very well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why but everytime i open the chapter to edit it keeps adding spaces everywhere??? its driving me crazy im sorry i tried to fix it );


	8. Confessions

Loki has been here a long time. He has seen the harvest come and go, and it will come again soon. It is like the soft trickle of water, the days in and out. He throws a knife. He repeats the instructor. It's “fjorlag” not “fyorlag”. He hands Frigga a book. Idunn smiles at him and places a flower in his palm. He screams at night, there’s a hand at his throat, but when his eyes open, there’s no one there. When he looks up from his food, Thor is already looking at him; he swallows, but the food does not settle well in his stomach. He skips a stone. He reads a book. He throws a knife. 

The trickle of life for mortals was rapid, but scant. A few drops is nothing next to a cascade. For the time he has been here, a mortal would be dead already. To Gods a century is nothing. To Loki it is everything. 

His memories of home are a faint whisper. At night, he recalls the halls of his castle. Before he could navigate it with his eyes closed. Now when he closes his eyes, he wonders, was it a left or a right? How many doors did it take to get to the kitchen? The library, the courtyard, the throne room? 

He sits up in the grass and peers up at the sun’s retreat. The days have grown shorter, the nights longer. It will be winter soon. They did not bring hail storms or the tempest winds of home, but sometimes it would snow. While others covered themselves in wool and furs, Loki wore thin linen and walked barefoot. He liked to soak the cold through the soles of his feet; it reminded him of walking around the halls at home. 

There is a rustle behind him, and his hand flies to the knife strapped to his waist. 

“It’s just me.”

The voice only causes him to tense further. Thor settles next to him, huffing as he goes down. Loki makes a point to not look at him. 

“What do you want?” Loki has dropped the formalities over time. He is brusque and harsh when he wants to be; which is always with Thor. He no longer fears being whipped for speaking out against the Prince. The worst he gets is a disapproving look from Idunn. 

“Can’t I watch the sunset?” 

“Such a large palace, and yet you must watch it here?” Loki quips back. 

Thor rolls his eyes. He has also gotten used to their conversations. Things are silent, and for a moment, Loki thinks this is pleasant. It is the first time he has been in the boy’s presence without wanting to press a knife to his throat. 

“Don’t you get cold?” Thor comments, looking at Loki’s bare feet pressed against the frost. 

“This is nothing. It is much colder where I am from.” Loki knows where this is headed. 

“Where is that, then?” Thor cannot help himself. 

He has asked before. The first time Loki had heard those words fall from Thor’s lips, it had felt like a slap. It stings less now. He says what he said then. 

“Ask your father.”

He already knows what Thor will say before he opens his mouth. “He is asleep.”

Loki lolls his head to the side and looks at Thor coldly. “Ask your mother then or Baldr.”

“I have tried,” Thor whines. “They think you should tell me. I don’t see why it's so important.”

Loki falls onto his back. The ice crystals are cool against his skin, he can feel it seep in through his clothes. 

“If it’s not so important then you can wait to ask Odin.”

Thor does not like this answer, but he does not push any further. He asks instead, “Are you training with my brother tomorrow?”

When Thor had first found out that Baldr was training Loki, he had been baffled. He says he is envious because his brother never bothered to teach him, but Loki has a feeling that he was just angry that Baldr got Loki to speak to him regularly. 

“Where else would I be?”

Thor disregards Loki’s sneering. “Can I come?”

Loki was not expecting this. “Don’t you have lessons?” 

Thor leans against his arm and smiles mischievously. “Does the lyre even count as a lesson?”

Part of him is annoyed that Thor is trying to impede Loki’s training; he is like an infection, spreading to every part of Loki’s life. Part of him wanted to say yes. Maybe his knife will slip and lodge itself in that blonde head. 

“I’m sure your mother thinks it is.”

Thor shrugs. “What is one day?” 

Loki mulls over his options. He knows that if he refuses, Thor will just pop in somewhere else in his day. 

“Do as you like, Prince.”

 

* * *

 

“You do that well.”

Loki looked up, quickly. He hadn’t sensed Thor’s presence behind him. Was he mocking him? But Thor’s face was sincere. 

Loki did not answer and instead went to retrieve the knife he had thrown. Baldr was standing by a nearby tree, having been observing his training, and gave him an odd look, as if to say, what’s he doing here? Loki shrugged and yanked the knife out of the tree, content with the pit he had driven in the bark from the strength of his throw. 

“Don’t you have lyre lessons to attend to Thor?” Baldr asked, moving towards the two boys. 

Thor gave him a roundabout answer. “I have the rest of my life to learn the lyre.”

“Does your mother know of this?”

“Mother won’t mind,” there was a glint in his eyes when he said this, as if he knew it would be true without a doubt. He seemed acquainted with getting away with such things, and Baldr must have known this because he did not fight him on it. 

How frustrating, Loki thought, to not be able to say no to your kid brother. He wondered if anyone had ever said no to Thor. 

“He wants to watch me fight,” Loki explained, twiddling the knife in his hands with a bored expression. 

Thor grinned, sitting on the stump of a tree. “I’ve heard Prince Loki is quite good, so I wanted to see it for myself.”

Baldr shook his head, resided with myself. “Very well then,” he said. “Would you like to start hand to hand now, Prince Loki?”

Loki nodded and fell quickly into a fighting stance. He strengthened the grip on his knives and watched as Baldr did the same. 

Divine blood flows differently in each god. Idunn’s voice made the trees weep, Odin could kill a man by clapping him on the back, Frigga could turn gold into a burning liquid with a simple blink of her eyes. Loki wasn’t sure how much divine blood coursed through him, but he did know he possessed one thing: speed. His knife, as he began the first pass, moved faster than Thor’s eye could follow. It whirled, flashing forward, reversed, then flashed back. The handles seemed to flow into his hands, like an extension of himself, the dark silver edges flickered like snake tongues. 

When his blade connected with Baldr’s forearm, Baldr had twisted his arm, grabbed Loki’s and pulled him forward so as to throw him off his balance. But Loki was expecting this, and simply pivoted on his foot. Coming from behind the man, he kicked him harshly in the back of the knee causing him to fall. He swung out with his knives, moving like liquid, like a fish through the waves, and pressed one to Baldr’s back and the other to his neck. 

Baldr let out a chuckle, his voice vibrating against the blade. Loki stopped and stabilized his breath before stepping back. Baldr got up quickly. 

“Who taught you how to fight?”

Loki looked up at the voice; he had forgotten that Thor was even there. 

He gave the boy a confused look. “Your brother did,” he stated obviously. 

“Only him?”

Loki thought for a moment. “My father did. A little.”

Thor narrowed his eyes. “No one else?”

“No,” he said defensively. 

Baldr smiled as he stretched his arms. “Prince Loki, is simply gifted.”

Loki felt his chest inflate at the compliment. 

“I am not quite skilled with heavy weapons,” Loki admitted. “I’m sure that is more up your avenue.”

Baldr smiles modestly. “I am certain that you will become good enough to incapacitate me even when I am holding a shield and a sword.”

Loki felt himself begin to smile. 

“You can’t fight with a sword? Or a spear?” 

The smile fell quickly. He turned to Thor, annoyed by his presence. Why was he here again?

“Can you fight with knives?”

Thor rolled his eyes, but stayed silent. They both knew he could not. 

“Well,” Baldr said. “That is enough for today. I have to check in on my men. They should be finished up with drills now.”

Loki was almost sad to see him go. I should hate this man, he thought. He more than deserved it, but Loki had began to grow fond of him. He was easygoing, a mellow spirit, and Loki felt comfortable in his presence. Right now, he didn’t want Baldr to leave, but that was mostly because he didn’t want to be left with Thor. 

“I’ll see you both at dinner. Until then,” Baldr waved and turned his back. 

When Loki looked back at Thor he opened his mouth to say something along the lines of being tired and wanting to retire to his room, but Thor is already speaking. 

“Fight me.”

Loki gave him an incredulous look. “What?”

He steps forward. “Fight me.”

Loki makes a sound almost like a laugh. “No. Of course not.”

“Fight me,” he says again, almost in a trance. 

“I don’t want to.”

“I dare you.”

Loki grits his teeth. “You don’t have any weapons.”

“I’ll get them.”

Loki shook his head and slid his knives into their sheaths. “I will not fight you. Don’t ask me again.”

His eyes met Loki’s. “I will ask you again. You cannot forbid me.” He stepped forward, defiant. 

Something burned hot in Loki, an impatience, he was growing tired of Thor’s antics. He moved to walk away and saw how Thor’s face twisted in anger. 

“Come back,” Thor called. Then louder: “Come back. Are you afraid?”

Loki felt laughter build in his throat, but it was strange. “No, I am not.”

“You should be,” Thor said. He had meant it as a joke, an easing, but it did not sound that way in the still air that hung between them. 

Loki felt something burst inside him. His legs swallowed up the five steps between them, and he crashed into Thor. 

Thor stumbled backwards, falling, and Loki clung to him. They landed, and he heard the quick huff of Thor’s breath as it was driven from him. But before Loki could speak, Thor was twisting around beneath him, had seized Loki’s wrists in his hands. Loki struggled, not sure what he had meant to do.

“Let me go!” Loki yanked his wrists against Thor’s grip.

“No.” In a swift motion, he rolled Loki beneath him, pinning him, his knees in Loki’s belly. The air left his lungs like a whisper into the air. A groan escaped with it. Loki panted, angry but strangely thrilled. 

“I have never seen anyone fight the way you do,” Thor told him. Confession or accusation, or both.

“You have not seen much,” Loki sneered. 

Thor bridled, from the venom of his tone. “You know what I mean.”

Over them both, the trees rattled gently.

“What do you mean?” Loki spat. He twisted, hard, and Thor let go. 

They sat up, their tunics dusty and stuck to their backs.

“I mean—” Thor broke off, frustrated. “There is no one like you,” Thor said, at last.

There was an edge to Loki now, that familiar keenness of anger and envy, struck to life like flint. But the bitter words died even as he thought them. He felt flustered from Thor’s confession; it seemed odd, misplaced, to hear those words from Thor, when he thought the same of the other. He regarded Thor a moment, in silence, unsure of what to say. “So?”

Something about his response seemed to drain the anger from Thor. His face cracked, and he smiled, and his face was like the sun. 

****

* * *

 

When he throws the doors to his chambers open Thor is there. He is teetering on heels, and the wide smile on his face makes his excitement clear. 

Loki regards him with a questionable look. 

“Am I being escorted to dinner now?” 

Loki doesn’t wait for an answer before dropping to his knees, fastening the laces of his boots he had forgotten in order to answer the door. 

Thor gives him a blank look. “Oh, well, I’m not sure if anyone told you, but tonight my friends will be joining us.”

Loki’s fingers pause in their motion, twitching around the laces. He is sure when he looks up he is wearing an ugly glare. “Friends?”

Thor does not flinch, but he stands still, ceasing his idiotic swaying. 

“Yes, my friends. I’ve told you of them before.”

Loki shakes his head and quickly finishes tying his shoes, getting back up to his feet. “You have not.”

Thor moves out of the way giving Loki the space to exit his room. He looks irritated when he speaks, though that is not unusual. 

“Yes, I have. You were just not listening.”

He strides forward, ignoring Thor’s scolding. 

“So, who are these boys lucky enough to befriend you, Prince?”

Thor has made sure to match Loki’s pace. He throws him an offended glare; he hates when Loki refers to him as such. Which is precisely why Loki continues to do so. 

“I’ll introduce you to them before dinner starts. There’s four, so you know.”

“How old are they?” Loki asks. 

“My age.”

“Ah, so they are still idiots,” Loki teases. 

“I said they were older than you! Except Hogun, he’s a bit younger like you,” Thor rebutes. 

“Yes, but if they’re anything like you then,” Loki pauses, his smile tilting mischievously. “Well, let’s just say, age is not a cure for the inept.”

Thor flushes, positively cross. “Try not to be an ass, will you.”

Loki rolls his eyes and descends the stairs two at a time. He isn’t particularly looking forward to meeting new people, but he supposes the quicker he gets there the quicker he can get introductions out of the way. 

Sure enough when they reach the dining hall, it is bustling with people he does not recognize. Thor’s little friends must have also brought their families with them. Loki’s skin prickles, anxiety spreading beneath it, like the slow thick drip of tree sap. His eyes search, and he finds Idunn quickly. She is standing with the Queen and Baldr, exchanging pleasantries. In their hands are golden chalices, filled with the finest of wines that they nurse in small sips as they wait for the servants to finish setting up the tables. 

His gaze flicks away from her when he feels Thor tug on his sleeve. He is dragging them both to the other side of the room, away from Idunn and the others. 

“Fix your face,” Thor quips when he sees the deep frown on Loki. “It’ll be fine. You’ve already met me, it’ll be just like that.”

“You think too highly of your company,” Loki murmurs under his breath. 

He is sure Thor had caught the jab, but they are quickly approaching a cluster of other children, so whatever he might have said is replaced with a loud, cheerful greeting. 

Loki stills as several pairs of eyes turn his way. 

"Loki," Thor brushes his shoulder with his hand which does little to ease Loki. "These are my friends, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun and Sif."

Loki nods mutely and tries to keep his eyes trained between their heads so as to not meet any lingering gazes. The thin blonde boy to his left bows his head slightly and smiles disarmingly.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Prince Loki." His voice is sweet and it carries something that makes Loki want to look away immediately. "We've heard much about you, but I have to say you are much lovelier in person."

Loki's face prickles with heat, his eyes widening by a fraction; he's never met someone so brash, at least not with him. Fandral lets out a whine when Thor swats him in the head. The young Prince's face is bright, blood swelling in his head. When he glances at Loki there is something dangerous in his eyes, but it's gone in the next moment.

"Ignore him, he's forgotten himself," Thor chastises. 

One of the other boys lets out a hefty laugh and claps Fandral on the back, who is bent over from Thor's pressing authority, ever the sheepish smile on his lips. The boy that was laughing introduces himself next.

"Name's Volstagg," his voice, bright and cheerful matches the fiery red mane on his head well. He motions to the boy next to him, "This is Hogun of Vanaheim, he doesn't talk much."

Hogun bows his head to Loki and the Prince notices that while the boy had the solemn face of a man he was about Loki's height. 

His eyes shift to the right of Hogun to see a girl with strong arms crossed in front of her chest. She wears her golden hair in a tight bun and a sour look on her face.

Thor ambles to her side. "This is Lady Sif. You've met her older brother, Heimdall."

Recognition strikes clear in Loki's mind, eyes narrowing subconsciously. There's something off about the girl, he's not sure if its her aggressive posture or the way her eyes dig into him like she's knows something the rest of them don't. 

“Where are you from, if I may ask, Prince Loki?” Fandral speaks up.

Loki's attention breaks. “Somewhere far.”

He can feel Thor's eyes on him without having to look. The boy had made his way back next to him quickly, swaying on his heels again. 

"It is probably better we don't speak on such things," Thor explains for him, noting the odd looks on his friends' faces. "Prince Loki's identity is hidden for his safety. What matters is that he's here with us, right?"

Loki meets his gaze and he feels something like an electricity current pass between them. Though, he loathed having his abduction described in such a manner, he's not sure that's the reason for the feeling in his stomach. 

"Well, I for one am glad to have a new face around here," Volstagg grunts.

"Ohoho, are you saying you got tired of seeing my beautiful face?" Fandral jests.

"Anyone would get tired of looking at you."

It's the first time he hears Sif speak, and he isn't quite surprised by the venom in her voice.

“Not that this isn’t lovely, but can we wrap this up. We came to eat, did we not?” Loki says idly. His gaze wanders back to where Idunn and Baldr stood, his feet itching to move.

“I know you are not from here, but are you not taught manners where you’re from, _foreigner_?” The girl spits. 

His blood grows cold from the words. The group had fallen silent, and he can hear the blood rushing to his temples.

“You-!” He bites his tongue. He is not sure what to say, he wants to scream, slice into her, but he cannot. He is a Prince, he reminds himself, but a Prince was never spoken to in such a vile manner. 

He can feel Thor's hand snake around his elbow, but he shrugs it off violently. "Let's go to the table, shall we?" Thor whispers, his voice strained.

Loki attempts to compose himself, but there is still a quiver in his words when he speaks. “No, I think I’ll take my dinner in my room. Is it clear that I am not welcome here.”

He turns on his heel quickly, whirling out of the dining hall. When he reaches the adjourning halls he breaks into a run, the evening sun coming from the windows is hot on his skin. He wanted the sun to burn him. He wanted it to scorch him down to the bone.

 

* * *

 

He is sitting at the end of a hallway he barely remembers walking down. Twisting the knife in his hand, he thinks of that girl, Sif, and in his fury, pricks his thumb. Blood wells around the cut and he rubs his hand against his thigh. 

He jolts at the sound of footsteps coming towards him. It’s only the Prince. Loki wonders how many rooms and halls the boy had checked before finding him. He feels something like satisfaction, knowing he was worth the Prince rushing out of a formal dinner. When he sees Loki his face breaks with relief. 

“I’m sorry about Sif,” Thor starts. “I’m not sure why she acted like that. It is not like she hasn’t met people from other realms.”

“Isn’t your friend from Vanaheim?” Loki mutters. 

“Yes! That’s what I said,” Thor says in exasperation. “Idunn as well.”

“It does not matter. I don’t care for the opinions of  _ meyla _ .”

Thor’s eyes widen and Loki can tell he is trying very hard not to laugh. “I’m not sure she’d appreciate being called a little girl.”

His thumb brushed against the sharpness of his blade, he digs against it, causing the small welt of blood from earlier to deepen. The blood rolls down his wrist in a thin stream; he doesn’t notice it.

“She acts like one,” he scowls. 

Thor hums. “So is that where you’re from?”

Loki gives a sound of confusion, though it sounds more like annoyance. 

“Vanaheim?”

Loki’s mouth curls, like the thought is distasteful. “Are you daft?”

Thor bristles from the insult. “No. Where else could you be from?”

Loki lets out a cynical laugh. “I am not from Vanaheim, that much is certain.”

Thor tries to get closer, but the proximity causes a thick swirl of anger to rise in Loki’s stomach. 

“Alfheim? You don’t strike me as an elf, but if you were maybe you’d be from Svartalfheim,” he jests. “It would fit your attitude better.”

Loki jaw tightens; to be compared to a Dark Elf was low. “Why do you press? I have already told you to speak to your father about it.”

Thor groans. “That could be another century of waiting.”

“Why does it matter?” Loki’s question is nearly a shout. 

Thor’s face lightens, as if he is thinking. “I want to know you better.”

Loki feels the anger coil around him, constricting, and his hold tightens on his blade, the blood smearing against the handle. 

“Are you sure of that Prince? You can’t really be that brainless, can you?”

He is close to the other now, close enough that if he wanted to, he could slide that knife right below Thor’s ribs. 

“I’ve nearly spelled it out for you already! I’m from somewhere cold, very cold,” he spits. “I was brought here the day your father returned from war, as a prisoner. They nearly executed me, but instead they took my magic away and kept me as a pet. Are you sure you don’t know where I come from?”

Thor’s face has grown cold with each venomous word. There is something morphing in his expression, a fear, a revelation. “That can’t be…” His voice is a whisper. 

“Why?” Loki feels his eyes grow hot and heavy. 

“You’re–you’re not…”

“Blue?” Loki mocks. “Your mother made sure I wouldn’t be recognizable. The rest? I have only myself to blame, I suppose. I was born wrong, a disappointment. It's why you have never of the Prince of Jötunheim, have you?”

He feels the tears well from his eyes and spill down his cheeks, they get caught in his grimace. Thor looks frightened, his body still, like he is for the first time in his life, unsure what to do. 

“Is it all you hoped for?” Loki’s voice cracks under the pain in his chest. 

“W-What?”

“The monsters from your stories.”

Thor looks like he is caught between speaking and shaking his head. He takes a step back instead. It rings an agony through Loki’s chest. Fear: Thor reeked of it; it was the clearest answer Loki could receive. There was little more for him to do, but leave. So he does, because even if Thor hates him now, he does not want to hear it. 

It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? But the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that this is not victory. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fjorlag- death, slaughter  
> Meyla- little girl
> 
>  
> 
> hello readers! i just wanted to say quickly that i’m back in uni so updates will probably be very slow or won’t come until i have time off of school )): i tried making this ch a lil longer but nonetheless i hope yall understand


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